#but yeah anyway at some point i probably need to see a doctor about it and i just. cannot phone the doctor.

[eatyourdamnpears]

“elevated ANA levels are usually markers for an autoimmune health condition!”

well, not when the rheumatologist you see is completely invalidating about it and your rheumatology blood panel comes back negative for anything!

[zanderbobs]

Having to face the fact that I might actually have to go to the doctors at some point and can't keep putting it off forever

[yongvillage]

bruises | k.mg

street fighter bf!mingyu x afab!reader

established relationship, porn with some plot, minghao cameo cuz i love him, mentions of injury and blood, fighting, make up sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, one joke of mingyu being a masochist, one mention of death, creampie, oral (m receiving), skull fucking, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, recording, cum swallowing, cum eating, praise, muscle and size kink if you squint but that’s guaranteed in a mingyu fic 😭😭

summary: you and mingyu get into a fight over his bad habits, angst and smut ensues

wc: 2.7k

you’ve always hated the fights mingyu got himself into. he’d come home almost every week, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. this time wasn’t any different, it was past midnight by this point, and you were curled up on the couch watching a random movie in an attempt to distract yourself from your growing worries. mingyu is usually home by this point.

a few more minutes go by and mingyu stumbles through the door with more injuries than usual. he sets his key down as you frantically walk towards him, noticing the way be avoids your eyes, “gyu.. your face, your bleeding everywhere.” he gives you a cold stare, his face battered and bloodied, and he brushes past you, going towards the bathroom where your med-kit usually was.

“yeah that’s the whole point y/n, it’s called street fighting for a reason.” you knew he wasn’t actually mad at you, just pent up anger from years of fighting, and especially tonight. scanning his whole body, the bright bathroom lighting allowing for you to see all his cuts and wounds more closely.

he slipped off his shirt, a huge bruise starting to form on the left side of his torso. “..you sure you didn’t break something?” your hand coming up to lightly stroke his ribs, mingyu’s anger blinding him from leaning into your warm touch.

“no, and why do you care so much anyway? it’s not like this is the first time.”

you tipped your head to the side, a ‘what’s that smell’ expression laid on your face, “what kind of question is that? i care because you’re my boyfriend, of course i’m gonna be worried.” your voice was nothing short of angry, your eyebrows almost meeting in the middle due to your frustration.

“you shouldn’t be.”

“uhh? yes i should, i’m tired of seeing you walk in here everyday with new cuts to clean. and your ribs.. mingyu you need to go see a doctor.”

“look y/n, i’ve been doing this for years—“

“well i think you should stop.”

it was deathly quiet, and mingyu’s hand holding a cotton pad paused in the air as he stared at you through the mirror. only the whirring sound of your ac being heard to combat the july heat. mingyu looked at you for a bit, chuckling to himself as his tongue poked through the side of his cheek, grabbing the gauze out of the med-kit and wrapping it around his knuckles.

“what’s so fucking funny?”

“oh nothing just that fact that you think you can tell me what to do.”

“yeah i’ll you what to do if it means not having you die in some alleyway.”

“please y/n, it never goes that far.”

“look at yourself! you basically limped in here, and i tried to help you but now you act like i’m a bitch for being worried about you?” you yelled.

mingyu finished up the gauze as he dropped everything and grabbed his shirt, walking towards the door. he left with a slam, not even caring to bid you goodbye, or kiss you and say ‘i love you’ like he always does.

the post-anger tears started streaming down your face. you knew he was probably gonna go crash at minghao’s, yet even with how frustrated you were, you still couldn’t help but worry and think about mingyu going to sleep untreated.

-

9:02 PM

(5) missed calls

gyu?

mingyu im sorry

are you okay? did minghao get you painkillers?

please dont fight again, at least take some time to let ur body rest :((

a full day had gone by. guilt stirred in mingyu’s stomach as he stared at his phone screen. he was the one who should be apologizing, not you.

he sighed, shutting off his phone and getting up. he knew he had to face you at some point.

“you leaving?”

mingyu hummed, shuffling into his shoes and heading out the door as minghao yelled out a goodbye. mingyu hopped in his car, letting the silence engulf him.

when mingyu walked into the apartment he noticed how dim it was, assuming you were asleep. he took his shoes off as quietly as possible, making his way to your guys’ shared bedroom. he heard a muffled voice, noting that the door was only half closed, peeking into the crack.

he saw you, adorned in one of his hoodies that was much too big for you, sleeves bunched up at your wrists and the hem coming down to your mid-thigh, naked legs on full display.

you paced around the room and it looked like you were on the phone with someone, the voice being hard to identify.

“did he say anything to you when he left?”

“nah, he just walked out.”

oh. it was minghao.

“shit, um, he didn’t even mention where he was going?”

mingyu heard the panic in your voice and the way your forefinger and thumb came to rub at your temples. he walked in as your eyes shot up to look at him, not hesitating to hang up on minghao, throwing your phone on the bed and running to jump into mingyu’s arms.

“oh my god mingyu!” you looked up at him and immediately started hitting him, “stupid! stupid! stupid! i hate you!” each hit enunciating your words, feeling like nothing but weak taps to mingyu. tears spilled out of your eyes, as mingyu only hugged you closer, hand coming up to pet your hair as the other cradled your head into his chest. he heard your muffled sniffing, his heart breaking at the stress he caused you.

“shhh i know, i know i’m stupid. i’m sorry baby.”

“you’re so mean! why didn’t you at least text me back? do you know how scared i was?” your voice broke, looking up at him with swollen eyes.

“i ..” mingyu paused, his hands coming down to hold your face, “i know i fucked up, i was too embarrassed to face you, afraid that you’d end things with me, which i would’ve probably deserved. i’m so, so sorry angel, i know no amount of apologizing will take away your worries, and i know i should’ve stayed and talked things out with you”

his thumb came to wipe away your falling tear, your hands hooking around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you. he instantly reciprocated, hands traveling down to wrap around your waist, pulling you close so that your bodies were flush against each other.

“i forgive you, i’m sorry for raising my voice at you.” you mumbled into his mouth, mingyu backing away to confusedly look at you.

“why are you apologizing? don’t say sorry baby, you should’ve slapped me as soon as i walked through that door.”

you giggled, looking down as you felt something press into your stomach, “you’re hard? really? got hard at the thought of me slapping you?” you teased.

“loooook..” mingyu looked away bashfully, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

“ew, you’re such a weirdo.” you said, slipping off mingyu’s hoodie to reveal a white tank top, your hard nipples poking through the thin fabric. you dropped down to your knees, fingers going straight to work untying your boyfriend’s sweatpants and pulling them down, along with his boxers, to his knees.

“oh, shit, hold on— you don’t have to do that baby.” mingyu hooked his hands underneath your armpits, attempting to pull you up being cut off by you stroking him.

“please, i want to.”

mingyu hesitated but was soon slapping his tip against your cheek, cooing at the way your head followed to try and get it in your mouth. finally he put it where you wanted, circling your tongue around the sensitive head. mingyu’s head lulled back, letting out a groan.

you took all of him into your mouth at once, his tip consistently hitting your uvula as you bobbed your head, twisting your hand on the base of his cock.

“fuck juuust like that baby, shit, h-have you been practicing on other guys or something?”

you laughed, only causing you to choke on his length, hitting his thigh as punishment for making you laugh while doing something that literally constricts your airflow.

“okay, okay, no more jokes, got it.” mingyu snickered, his gauzed hand grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you came off of him with a pop, wiping off the drool dripping down your chin with the back of your hand, “gyu, u-use my mouth.”

mingyu smiled smugly, wordlessly grabbing ahold of your head with his other hand before shallowly thrusting into your wet mouth.

it wasn’t long before his length was ramming into your throat, breathless fuck’s and just like that’s leaving his cut lips. he was scared to even look down, afraid that if he saw your fucked out face he’d cum too quick.

you’re eyes looked up at him, tendrils of hair slipping past mingyu’s hold due to the sheer speed at which his hips slammed into your mouth.

“christ y/n, you look s’pretty like this, gon’ let daddy take a picture?”

you moaned at the label he placed on himself, nodding around his cock, eyes never leaving his sweat and scab covered face. mingyu pulled out his phone, angling the camera at your face. a red box with white numbers ascending appearing at the top of his screen.

“it’s a video baby, you don’t mind do you?” mingyu laughed when you attempted to hum a nuh-uh, only a string of muffled gags being heard. you were so wet, clit aching to be touched. you inched your hand down to touch yourself, drawing quick, fast circles.

“of course you don’t, so perfect, take my dick so well”

mingyu realized what it was you were doing to your lower half, “y’touching yourself? don’t worry daddy will fill y’up nice and good after this, j-jus’ let me cum in your mouth pretty.”

with a few final thrusts, and the erratic spasming of mingyu’s hips, you felt his hot cum travel down your throat, hollowing your cheeks as you slurped every last drop.

your knees ached as mingyu pulled you up, ending the video and hastily putting it in his hidden folder. he pulled you into a kiss, “did so good f’me baby, you always know how to spoil me.” he spoke into your mouth, tasting his own release.

“w-wanna ride you,” you huffed out, breathless. mingyu grinned, the right side of his face being the only indication of it, while the left was so mangled you couldn’t tell what expression he was even making. whoever he fought got him good.

“you sure? don’t tire yourself doll.”

“i’m sure!” you said grabbing mingyu’s hand, dragging him to the bed.

“whatever you say cutie,” mingyu let out a strangled breath while lowering himself down onto the bed, his torso still extremely sore, and his head perched up against the headboard. you quickly pulled down your shorts and panties as you swung your leg over his thighs, leaning down to kiss him.

you hand raked over his chest and chiseled abs, fingers dipping into each and every crevice as mingyu’s tongue explored your mouth. you pulled back and grabbed a hold of his flushed cock, rubbing it along your folds as your slick dripped down his length, a whimper leaving your lips.

“shit.” he hissed, staring intently as you paused your ministrations to line yourself up, slowly sinking down. you stared down at where you were taking him in, brushing the hair out of your face to get a better look. mingyu’s mouth fell agape, “you’re so fucking tight,” watching as a bulge slowly formed just below your belly button. even after the countless times you and mingyu had had sex, he was always just so big, your tiny pussy barely taking him in each time.

you finally looked up, mingyu’s eyes meeting your own. “jus’ gimme a sec gyu, you’re s-so big,” you said breathlessly.

mingyu smirked cockily, “take your time gorgeous.” his hands soothingly rubbing you’re plush thighs.

you bounced slowly, feeling each vein of his cock drag against your walls, tiny gasps leaving your lips. mingyu let you control the pace for a bit, allowing for you to adjust to his size. but he was getting impatient, his hands coming down to grip the sides of your hips, his four digits digging themselves into your ass before lifting you up and slamming you back down, the movement knocking the wind of you, making your jaw go slack.

“fuck!” your head hung low, hands coming up to grip his broad, muscly shoulders for support, watching out for any bruises.

“that’s it baby, just hold onto daddy and let him make y’feel good.”

mingyu’s pace was animalistic, his hold on you hard enough to leave an imprint. you were shocked as to how he had this much energy considering what his body had endured a night ago.

tears welled up in your eyes, feeling his tip kiss your cervix with each thrust. the curve of his cock aligning just right with your g-spot. “oh my fff-fucking god! mingyu please, ha-harder!”

you didn’t even know if it was possible to go harder, but mingyu managed to slam you down with even more force then before. a bead of sweat ran down his tan neck, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he stared up at you with hooded eye. his hips thrust upwards to meet you halfway, causing you to let out mangled gasps and moans. you were sure he was puncturing your lungs by this point. no inch of your pussy was left unexplored, squishy pink walls molded perfectly to hug his cock.

“jus’ like that gorgeous, your pussy was made f’me.”

“s-soo deep daddy, feel you in my tummy..” you whined out as you saw mingyu grin, canines on display, his hand coming up to grab yours, placing your hand on the bulge on your stomach, almost cumming right there when you felt the bump.

“fuck, you jus’ got so tight, y-you like when daddy pokes your tummy like that?”

you nodded frantically, tears flowing down your hot, pink cheeks, “i-i’m gon—na cum, g-gonna cum!” you struggled to get the words out, mingyu understanding you nonetheless.

“cum with me baby, gon’ let daddy cum in you?”

“fuck, yes d-daddy, want you to fill me up so bad, p-put a .. a baby in me,” mingyu loved how dirty your mouth got every time you were close to coming. his right hand pressed onto the small of your back, causing you to arch into him. his mouth was at perfect level with your nipples, taking your tit into his mouth and circling the hard nub with his tongue.

the pleasure was all too much, and with a few more hard thrusts your hole was spasming around his thick base, clenching and unclenching, mingyu’s mouth detaching from your breast as he looked up at you, his eyes shutting tightly as hot cum shot into your pussy.

“shiiiit, you’re milking me baby.” mingyu said, still grinding your hips onto him as he rode out both of your orgasms.

you reluctantly lifted yourself off of him, feeling some of mingyu’s cum drip down your thigh, scooping it with your index and middle finger and licking it off as you cuddled into his side, his arm laid across your shoulder.

mingyu watched as you cleaned him off your fingers, smoothing your disheveled hair. “such a good girl, not letting any of daddy’s cum go to waste.” he said as he booped your nose.

you giggled, “you okay though, gyu? d-does it hurt anywhere?” you asked, still breathless from your fresh orgasm.

“don’t worry about me doll, are you feeling okay? did i go too hard?”

“mm-hm, just a lil’ sore,” you snuggled closer.

“a shower should help ease y’up,” mingyu swung his feet over the bed, getting up as he reached his hand out, “think you can walk?”

“nooo i need my big, strong boyfriend to help carry me,” you joked, climbing into mingyu’s arms as he threw you over his shoulder, landing a playful slap on your ass.

“asshole! i’m not helping you replace your bandages.” mingyu could hear the pout in your voice, laughing as he made his way to the bathroom.

@yongvillage | thank you for reading!

[amaiwrites]

ITS JUST A KISS

Monoma… is broke. That is, until, he starts working part time in Recovery Girl’s office by copying her quirk. It’s all going well until a certain someone shows up with injuries that need to be healed…

inspired by this post! monoma x fem!reader, fluff <3

word count: 1.6k (!!!)

“Kirishima, Y/n— you’re up next.” 

Y/n takes in a deep breath before she steps onto the platform. Today’s class is combat practice, and students were put in pairs assigned by Mr. Aizawa. Y/n’s up against Kirishima— and he’s great! But that’s the problem. He’ll definitely be a tough opponent. 

“Whoever gets the other to step off the platform first— or to surrender, will win.” 

Kirishima gives Y/n a determined grin as he hardens his arm, and Y/n returns the favor as she powers up her own quirk. 

“And… fight!” 

Kirishima throws a punch, Y/n dodges. Y/n kicks Kirishima’s leg. Kirishima gets a hit in on Y/n’s side, then Y/n punches him right in the chest. It goes on like this, each of them landing hits one after the other. Everyone is watching the fight closely, excited to see who will win in the end. Then, a loud noise is heard, causing Y/n to turn her head. 

“I am here!” All Might exclaims, and Y/n gets a tiny bit distracted from her fight because, hello, it’s All Might! 

Wait, focus— fangirl about All Might later! She looks back over to Kirishima, and his hand flies right out to her face. She stumbles backward, and falls onto the green grass next to the platform. Right out of bounds. 

“Kirishima wins this round.” Aizawa says, “Y/n, are you okay?” 

“Yeah…” Y/n didn’t hit her head on the ground or anything, but she puts her hand on her forehead and sees that it has some blood on it. 

“Ah, shit. Sorry Y/n! I didn’t mean to hit your head like that, it wasn’t very manly of me.” Kirishima offers his hand out and helps Y/n stand up. 

“That’s okay,” she smiles, “nothing Recovery Girl can’t fix later. Good fight!” 

The cut on her head wasn’t bad enough to cause great concern, but Aizawa sent Y/n down to Recovery Girl’s office anyways. 

Dang, I really wanted to see Momo go up against Uraraka, Y/n thinks as she knocks on the door to the nurses office. 

“Come on in.” A voice— definitely not Recovery Girl’s voice, says. Y/n cautiously opens the door, only for her eyes to meet—

“Monoma?!” 

“Y/n? How delightful to see you here!” Monoma welcomes her inside, warm smile on his face, but Y/n is still skeptical. 

She crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“Recovery Girl was kind enough to let me work part time in the nurses office.” Monoma smirks, “The best part about it is that I get to see how many of you 1-A idiots end up in here injured! Not nearly as many Class B students get hurt like—“ 

“Now, now, calm down Monoma. You’re supposed to be helping.” Recovery girl says, and Y/n tries her best not to laugh. “Heal her cut for me, will you dear?” 

Monoma’s smug demeanor seems to fall, his eyes going wide as his head turns to Recovery Girl. “Heal her? But— it’s just a small cut!” 

“Wait, how would he heal me?” Y/n cuts in. 

“Well, as you know, Monoma here can copy quirks,” Recovery girl explains, “I’ve had him copy my quirk so he could heal non-emergency people. This way I can go be right on the scene of classes like yours, where bad injuries are prone to happen.” 

…Interesting. Besides his quirk, Monoma is the least suitable student to be helping out like this. From what Y/n has seen, Monoma only likes to help his classmates, and definitely notClass 1-A. 

“Speaking of, I’m off to find your class now. They’re outside on the platform left of the main building, yes?” 

Y/n nods. “Take good care of our patients, Monoma!” The door closes behind Recovery Girl as she leaves the nurses office.

And now it was just the two of them. 

Monoma sighs. “Sit.” He says, pointing towards one of the doctor’s beds in the room. 

He always has so much attitude, Y/n thinks, but she sits where he told her to anyways. She would leave, but it’s probably not the best idea to leave her cut unattended. 

Stupid Monoma. His ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude and that smug smirk that’s always on his face is so… ugh. If he was less of an asshole, he’d be cute. 

Wait, what am I even saying??

Monoma isn’t cute. He’s not. Y/n hasn’t thought that, not even for a second—

“Damn girl, this cut’s worse than I thought.” Y/n almost jumps at the sound of Monoma’s voice next to her. He stands in front of Y/n, placing various medical items down next to her. When he’s done with that, he frowns. “Who did this to you?” 

Y/n studies Monoma’s expression. Usually he’d be teasing her, saying that with his idiotic smirk on his face. Call her crazy, but he almost looks… worried? Weird. 

“Kirishima,” She answers, “it was an accident though! I got distracted and his hand slipped.” 

Monoma grunts in— understanding? Disapproval? Y/n doesn’t know. 

“Idiot.” Monoma mutters, and Y/n’s not sure if he’s talking about her or Kirishima. His hand taps Y/n’s thighs. “Spread out your legs.”

She gives him a suspicious look. “My cut’s on my head, dummy.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” He pushes her legs apart himself, and then he stands between them. “See? Now I can get to your cut easier. Dummy.” 

Monoma takes a wet cloth and starts to clean around the cut and he— well, he smells nice. That might seem like a random thing to say, but he is right up in Y/n’s face right now, which is being flooded with the smell of subtle cologne. He just smells nice. 

Y/n usually keeps her distance from this guy, but he isn’t that bad up close. The Monoma that Y/n sees right now isn’t the obnoxious little shit that’s always talking trash about 1-A, but a concerned… classmate? Friend? 

And, Y/n has to admit to herself, maybe he’s a little cute. Just a little bit. It’s totally the blue eyes— or the hair. Or the voice— Okay, not gonna think about that anymore. 

Monoma puts the cloth down, his eyes meeting Y/n’s. “I’m gonna kiss you.” 

“What?!” Y/n exclaims, her face quickly turning pink. Where the hell did that come from? Monoma just laughs. He gently takes Y/n’s face in his hands and kisses her forehead. 

Wait. Copying Recovery Girl’s quirk… he was just kissing me to heal my cut, that makes sense! Y/n hadn’t realized that until now. 

His quirk must’ve malfunctioned somehow, though, because that kiss didn’t make Y/n feel better. It made her heart start beating really fast, and— is it hot in here? Because Y/n definitely feels hot. 

Oh. 

Monoma’s smirk appears back on his face. “Y/n, are you blushing? Aww! Want me to kiss you again?” 

“Shut up!” Y/n’s eyes go to anywhere in the room, just not on him. Shit, she can’t like Monoma! The guy that, like, all of your friends hate? That hates you? Well, isn’t that just great. 

Monoma’s still standing where he has been, right in Y/n’s space. It’s not helping. She finally decides to look back at him, because he probably should have moved away by now. He really should, before Y/n does something that she’d regret. 

“Oh,” He says simply, taking Y/n’s left hand in his. “You’re bleeding here too.” He wipes the blood off of Y/n’s hand with a cloth, then presses his mouth to her palm. Another kiss, yet there wasn’t even a cut on her hand. That was just blood from her forehead. 

“Um… there’s no cut on my hand.” Y/n points out, and Monoma just nods. 

“Great observation, Y/n,” He teases, “I’m aware of that. I just wanted to see if your face could get any redder.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get me to blush.” She says, despite her now red face. 

“Alright then,” Monoma starts, leaning in just a little bit closer. “guess I’ll have to keep trying then.”

“I…” Before Y/n can stop herself, she glances down at Monoma’s lips. I’m about to do something stupid, aren’t I? “Y-“

“Y/n! Are you in there?” Ochako knocks on the door, startling both Y/n and Monoma. Y/n quickly stands up as she walks into the room. “…Monoma? What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Ochako! Who won your match?” Y/n asks, partly to take the attention off of her but mostly because she’s curious. 

Ochako grins and puts her hands on her hips. “Me! Momo was quite the tough opponent though, I just barely won…” She shrugs. “Speaking of class, Aizawa sent me to find you. We should hurry back, Deku and Bakugo are up next!”

If you know Izuku and Bakugo, you know that this fight is going to be intense. It’ll definitely be entertaining to watch too, which is why Ochako grabs Y/n’s hand and starts to lead them back to class. 

Y/n tries to look over her shoulder at Monoma, but Ochako closed the door on their way out. 

“Hey, what was Monoma doing in there?” Ochako asks. 

Kissing me, Y/n thinks, but she probably shouldn’t say that. “He’s… working for Recovery Girl. Copied her quirk and stuff.”

“Whatt? I never would’ve imagined him as a nurse, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to help others like that…” 

Y/n nods in agreement. He didn’t seem like her type either, yet here he was making her all flustered. 

Seriously, out of all people, Neito Monoma?

You’re an idiot, Y/n. 

should I make a part 2? 🤭

[esamastation]

I have an ending planned, yeah. I even have a middle planned - in my head the fic is still at the first third. But anyway.

Into the Abyss started out as 2 different ideas smashed into one. First was older idea of SY donning on plague doctor getup to fight all the sex pollen, that's basically where the bird mask came from. Other was an idea - or rather a grievance - I had while reading another fic. I won't go into the details, it's not important, but it left me with a hankering for a properly monstrous/demonic SY fic. Specifically one where he became monstrous in reaction to equally monstrous environment. So I decided to write one.

That's basically it for the original plot for Into the Abyss - I just wanted to throw SY into the Endless Abyss and have him come out very much changed by it - bonus points if he got to absolutely abuse his PIDW knowledge. Both the world building and the System's antagonism comes from that - for SY to use his knowledge to his advantage the world has to be complex. And for SY to have a need to make use of it, he needs an impetus, a force driving him forward. Therefore, a world that wants to fuck him and a System that wants to kill him.

I'm not sure now if the idea of Endless Abyss being the result of the realms splitting in svsss is canon or fanon, but I really liked the idea of it as this chaotic in-between dimension that's being constantly ground between heaven, human realm and demonic realms, and probably some others. So that's what I went with - a constantly shifting hell dimension full of corrupt creatures and elements that long ago leaked in from the other realms. Festering, stagnating sewer of the other realms, basically.

Svsss has a lot of mentions of magical flora and fauna and svsss fanon loves it's sex pollen, so, lot of that seems like natural thing. I wanted to make things as uncomfortable for SY as possible, hence stuff like the Leaking Flower Meadow. I wanted SY not just badass - I wanted him to be uncanny, messy and feral. No room for his canon sensibilities and wilting flower act - the Endless Abyss takes his modern sensibilities about sex and puts them into a meat grinder.

For the various biomes in the Endless Abyss I took inspiration from games ice played over the years, can't really pin point what came from where. The shimmering atmosphere of the Leaking Flower Meadow came from the movie Annihilation, though. The Hell Frost is basically hailstorm from hell. And so on. Just picking bits and pieces here and there and smashing them together.

After that's it's basically another "put these guys into a Situation and see what happens" fic. Except it's a Lot of Situations. With a few "wouldn't it be cool if he did this" and "What's the reason he would do this" and "if this happened, how would he get out?" thrown into the mix.

I still got plans for Into the Abyss. Most involve scenes I want to see and stuff I want the characters to figure out. Just gotta figure out how to move all the pieces into place for the scenes to play out.

[darsynia]

New (Nomad Steve/Nurse!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he met you.

Word Count/Warnings: 2,400 | None

As 1/7 of my Birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, NEw is a first kiss hurt/comfort fic about writing your own happy endings. It's a hugely busy week for you and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

Excerpt:

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

NEW

It takes Steve a painful amount of time to adjust to hiding.

It isn’t just that he’s recognizable, it’s that he’s always stood out, always. As a small baby he’d been gasped over by strangers, as a sickly child he’d see concern and aversion in their eyes, and once he’d grown into a scrawny adult, those reactions had just intensified. 

Some accused him of making himself sick to avoid the war, as though he could have secretly known it was coming and starved himself into stunted growth just in case. For some, it didn’t matter what he looked like-- any man who wasn’t at war was fair game for ridicule. Even those who didn’t care either way found his presence unnerving simply because men his age were scarce. He reminded them of the people they missed, the people who didn’t have the ‘protection’ of being physically unable to join up. 

If his life was a narrative, he’d be the best protagonist he could be.

Even so, there was a special kind of hell in wanting so desperately to fight for justice and be told how lucky you were to be disallowed. Back then, it had been important to him not to hide. There were certainly others in the same boat as he was, men who needed groceries, to watch the news in the theater, to have a walk in the fresh air. So he went out anyway. He was the example, the target, the archetype.

Once he had the serum, hiding meant all the hard work by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark would be for nothing, so he didn’t. Even in tights.

The symbolism was even stronger when he came out of the ice. Now, people look to him as a lodestar meant to bring them all back to decency and safety, and he wants to, but with action, not iconography, no matter how potent. 

That hadn’t been enough, and now they’re here.

“You’ve been tying your shoes for five minutes, man. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sam.” Steve finishes up quickly and straightens. “Daydreaming, I guess.”

Sam leans over and looks out through the thin rectangle of night sky visible through the thick curtains. “At this point I think you can just call it dreaming. Stay safe out there.”

Steve watches Sam head off into the kitchen before he slips out of the apartment door and locks it behind him. He and Sam keep nocturnal schedules, but Natasha’s expert-level camouflage skills have netted her a day job that keeps them all afloat. Their plan of moving from community to community taking seasonal jobs has worked well so far. 

This is the most ‘domestic’ of their locations to date; they’re spending the lead-up to Christmas in a small city in the midwest full of people who know how to keep their heads down and get things done. No one’s expecting a trio of superheroes to settle in a satellite town whose main attraction is a vintage bowling alley, but there are other calculations to consider. People make eye contact here. They bring their real selves to the conversation, and Steve’s been struggling with some real guilt about that. 

As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he’d met you.

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

As it has for the past week, your heart starts racing when you get close to the track. The problem is, you were run ragged today, and you feel just like the mermaid from the original fairy tale. Every single step is like knives stabbing the balls of your feet, and your arches are singing ‘fuck you’ so loudly you expect Ursula to show up any minute.

You stop on the bench right inside the gate to let the burning pain subside a bit. The last thing you want is for your burly new crush to think you’re a lightweight, not now that the months of forcing yourself to run after work have paid off so nicely with… well, him.  

Besides Frank, the school’s night security officer and all-around nicest tough-guy in town, there isn’t anyone else visible on the brightly-lit track. You take the opportunity to cross your ankle over your knee and reach for your shoe in preparation to swap it with the sneakers in your bag. These are a new pair, and you’d planned on wearing them every few days to break them in. As soon as you get your heel off you understand just how much you screwed up by not bringing  the others in to swap into once you realized how go-go-go your day would be. The swelling is bad, and the beginnings of blisters sting in various places. There’s no way in hell you can jog today, and walking home is going to be excruciating. It’s a god-damned miracle you have the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mutter under your breath. The John F. Kennedy High School campus is the same distance from the bus stop as your apartment is, but in the opposite direction. Your feet had already been screaming, why hadn’t you gone home instead?”

“Thought you weren’t coming!”

Your crush’s voice cuts through the late November chill, warming your heart. You look up and see him crossing from under the bleachers, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s far enough away that you let yourself sigh, half in addlepated pleasure in seeing him, half in utter frustration at yourself. He’s the reason you came, of course. You’d walk across fire to spend time with this guy, and by the time you head home, that’s definitely what it’ll feel like.

“Sorry, long day,” you tell him once he’s close enough. 

Hurrying, you yank off your second shoe and nearly swallow your tongue from the pain. Tears stand in your eyes, exacerbated by the surprise when you look up and your new friend is right there, almost like he'd teleported over. He’s crouched in front of you, and there’s nowhere to hide from his concerned scrutiny.

He confirms your assessment of ex-military by the professional once-over he’s doing, even more so when he takes your shoe out of your weary hand and tests the bend of its sole with a practiced hand.

“Don’t say it--”

“These are not very good shoes,” he pronounces. With a move as graceful as a ballet dancer, he shifts onto the bench beside you, still examining the shoe. You snag it from his hand and tuck it into your backpack with its mate, pulling out your tennis shoes before zipping back up.

There’s no chance you’ll be able to put them on, but, one thing at a time.

“You’re right. I didn’t expect to be the runner on the ward today, but we were shorthanded.” You wince at your feet, both of which are looking decidedly puffy. Shit, will either pair of shoes fit, at this point? “There’s a ‘best foot forward’ joke I could be making about hoping you’d be here running tonight, but honestly, I’m too wiped out to make it.” You look over as you finish speaking and catch his pleased reaction. It’s understated, but it’s there, enough to make you brave. “I have the day off tomorrow, maybe I can give you a twelve hour rain check? I bet you’re even more handsome in sunlight.”

To your dismay, his face falls and he looks down. You turn your head away, unwilling to see the evidence of just how badly you’d gauged this. He’s very clearly not interested.

“Or not! ‘Not’ is also okay, sorry about that, I--”

The words dissolve on your tongue at the gentle touch of his knuckle on your chin, turning your face back toward his in the time-honored tradition of romantic male leads.

“Please don’t-- Running with you has been-- Believe me, during the day-- I would like to, I just can’t.” Disappointment is etched across his handsome features, but more than that, you can see the way his mind is racing just like yours had just seconds ago. The man looks like he’s desperate to rewind to a moment that doesn’t feel like this.

There’s a remedy to that, and after a day of doing your best to fix everything and everyone around you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to surge up and touch your lips to his. 

You meant to pull back right away, mirroring that thing where a couple knows each other so well that gentle brush is all that’s needed-- but your midnight warrior is still in the middle of the book. His large hand shifts to cup your cheek, holding you still for his head tip where he deepens the kiss and scrambles your brain. It’s impulsive, desperate, and honest. You grab at his clothing, needing to believe this is real, even as the two of you follow kisses with more kisses like you’re saying goodbye in an airport.

“Doesn’t look much like you’re runnin’!” the security guard calls out, his words so distant they almost don’t register at first.

That ends things abruptly, but the two of you don’t move much farther apart than a few inches, his hand still on your face, yours with a handful of his sweatshirt, right over his heart.

“Textbook,” you whisper, flattening your hand out to smooth over his chest. It’s solid muscle under there.

“Oh?” he asks, pulling his hand away swiftly like he’d forgotten how to be a gentleman in his eagerness to touch you. It’s charming as hell.

“This whole operation, it’s right out of the romance novel guidebook,” you praise. “I ought to look for cameras.” A shadow crosses his face, and you suddenly put the pieces together. “Shit, you’re hiding from something, aren’t you? That’s why you freaked out about coming here in the daytime.”

He’s already standing, but instead of stalking away from you, he’s looking around the track, turning in a circle of deep concentration. He’s looking for cameras, but not in a joking way, not as part of a bit.

“The school district would rather spend the money on Frank than cameras, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you murmur, pushing your voice into steadiness out of sheer determination. “The city contributes. It’s been so much safer when everyone who wants a night walk comes here, but there are fewer of us out in the winter months.” The fall chill is actually helping with the pain in your feet, so that's something.

Your mysterious crush is facing you again, apparently satisfied that the two of you aren't being watched by anything more permanent than good old Frank. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words have a horrid finality to them, but you’re focused on his eyebrows. They’re not on board with the rest of his body language. They’re beseeching, rather than resolute, hopeful rather than harsh.

You have one chance to get this right.

“There are some things I love about my coworkers, and let’s be real, a lot of things I don’t-- but do you want to know the thing I like least about working in a hospital?”

Your whole body is practically vibrating with adrenaline, and you realize this is your opportunity to shove on your shoes. As you do that, you refuse to look up at him. The goal is to bring his critical thinking skills back from ‘fight or flight’ mode. Then maybe you can get the two of you on the same page again.

It takes over a minute, but he lets out a long breath and sits down beside you. “Tell me."

“They’re terrible gossips,” you say, looking right at him. He’s not allowed to make the obvious (ruinous, new-relationship-wrecking) conclusion about what you’re saying, not without having to look you in the eye while he does it. “I can’t stand that shit. That’s why they send me on the errands. I’ve got everyone trained to stop talking when I walk by, at this point.”

His relief is visible. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” You set both feet on the ground and decide to test things out by standing. If you’re wobbly, you feel certain he’ll reach out and catch you. “Tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” he says, the picture of confusion. “You’re not-- You think I’m hiding from something and you’re not going to ask about it?” Even in the dim glow of the nearby track light, you can see the clench and release of his jaw.

“For all I know, you’re hiding from your last girlfriend. I know I’d find it hard to give you up, and I’ve known you for what? Two weeks?” Your feet are screaming at you about as loudly as the critical voice in your head, but happiness has made both just distant enough to achieve your goals. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you take to be a good sign. “Would that still be ‘textbook?’ This is all new to me.”

All of the cheeky, sarcastic, and cheesy thoughts that cross your mind would ruin the moment, so you go off script. It’s not the best, but it’s not awful, either.

“New is terrible for work shoes, but it’s lovely when it’s you. See you tomorrow night!”

Stay tuned for more stories in the Ro Roll! Would you like more of these two? Let me know 💚

[poppy-metal]

I've had this thought in my head for awhile of down on his luck patrick - maybe he's in a dry spell in his tennis career, and hes really way too fucking stubborn to crawl back to his family. he'd rather be homeless - coming in too contact with recently divorced!reader.

you have way too much money. you probably have a steady job as a ceo or a doctor - something big and important. but your marriage was nasty. your husband resented you for having more money than him, claimed it emasculated him - threw it in your face that you were getting into your forties now and couldn't even give him babies. he tore down your self worth, made you feel like less of a woman - made you think you weren't worth loving. you've been separated for some time now - and you're so lonely. you're horrible at dating - you always screw it up worrying about what their expectations of you will be. if you're feminine enough for them - if you're desirable - you come home to an empty spacious apartment and watch your TV shows and think you hate your life.

meeting patrick because he fell asleep on the bench outside your complex. you almost walked right by him but something - something about him called to you. maybe it was the fact that he looked so young - in his twenties clearly. freckle spotted and pink cheeked in the cool night air. curled up on the bench like a baby, using his hoodie as a pillow. your heart strings tug. you'd like to think this first step comes from the good of your heart and not some need to be needed - not some need to fill the void inside you - but you wake him up. and if you notice how pretty his eyes are you fold that into a little square in your pocket and ignore it. you tell him, "you look like you need some tea."

and patrick needs alot of things. he needs a fucking cigarette. he needs to be able to afford a fucking meal. he needs to get into a tournament and get back into the groove of things before he burns out and does something insane like kill himself because he hates his fucking life. but tea works. he's not one to turn down free shit. especially from pretty older women.

and he probably thinks this is a transaction - he probably isn't thinking of you lustfully at all at first - your little granny aesthetic and walls covered in pictures of woodland creatures dressed in 1800s garb weird him out, if hes being honest - but he moves to pull his shirt off anyway - because he knows what a free place to stay for a night means - and pussy is pussy at the end of the day. he just wont look at your walls when he's inside you.

and when you stop him its not because you dont want him - unlike patrick you think hes nearly ethereal. there's something mousy about him - but masculine too. his hair is wild and he has too big ears and a pointed nose. but his eyes are this gorgeous moss green - his lips pink and plush - his body filled out - you can see the defined lines of his stomach when he tugs his shirt up, the v that dips down into his jeans and then disappeares, the smattering of dark hair that peeks out - a man. you're not unaffected, is the thing. but you stop him because that's not what you invited him up for, really.

"you dont want....?" he trails off. looks at you like you're a strange insect under a microscope and he's wondering what the hell is up with you. like he wants to poke you with a stick. ask, 'you could obviously use some, lady, so what gives?'

"i just want you to.... talk with me. over tea, if that's alright. you can sleep here after if you'd like. i dont mind."

he thinks he gets it then. nodding his head slowly. he can talk. he'll talk your fucking ear off. he thinks you're probably lonely as fuck and yeah, its pathetic, but hell. pot meet kettle. misery loves a hot younger guy to ogle. isn't that how the saying goes? either way, you're both clearly lost in life at the moment. your apartment is too empty. he could use your hospitality.

its kinda a match made in heaven. an unlikely bond. love and sex isn't the plan - but then, does life ever go according to plan? can a lonely woman with a kind heart and a man who's made a shit mess of his life but wants to do better stay just friends? mean nothing to eachother?

[marigoldwriter]

NOBODY ASKED, BUT I DID IT!

Incorrect quotes from Descendants! Specifically with characters from my fanfic!! (read here)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Letty: I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.

Corwin: Ok.

Letty: Wait, why such a muted reaction? Did that not sound cool?

(I saw someone doing this with Red and all I could think of was Letty, like mother like daughter)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Murderer: Any last words?

Cherise: Do you think I'm cute? Be honest.

(little by little they will understand that she isn't afraid of death, not even a little bit)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Micah, looking at the Hearts's children: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

(it's a spoiler, yes, but no one will understand)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Manon: Just be yourself. Say something nice to her.

Letty: Which one? I can't do both.

(I should put Letty as red, she's so her mother)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Corwin: Do you have a self-care routine?

Rosa: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.

(In Riddles, French, Spanish, and a british accent, to be precise)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Arley, about Letty: She’s speaking some kind of French.

Rosa: Let me handle it. I speak Spanish. It's the same thing.

(Nobody knows who Arley is, but I'm going to put her here anyway. And this is very canon)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Letty, to Eva: If you see Corwin, give him this message *makes a neutral face*.

Letty: He'll know what it means.

*Later*

Eva: oh, and Letty said to give you a message.

Eva: *makes a neutral face*

Corwin: Oh no. The neutral face of displeasure.

(NOBODY KNOWS WHO EVA IS BUT— yeah, you'll understand)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Montreal: If we don’t get out of this alive… If we’re both about to die… I love you, Letty!

*Neither of them die*

Letty: …

Montreal: …

Montreal: So do you wanna talk about somethi-

Letty: No thanks.

(Spoiler, maybe, but that would happen. AND YOU WILL KNOW SOON WHO MONTREAL IS)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Cherise: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!

(Dearest, you've been like this since you were ten, please, you'll break another bone if you stay like this)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Mal: While I’m gone, you’re in charge, baby dragon.

Micah: Yes!!!

Mal, whispering: You’re secretly in charge, little dragon.

Manon: Obviously.

(THERE’S NO OTHER COLOR FOR THEM OTHER THAN PURPLE. I'll do this to Hearts family if I do this again)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Red: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Letty: *looking at Chloe out of the corner of her eye* How tall is she?

(this will probably happen, at some point, out of sight of the readers)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Eva, banging on the door: Letty! Open up!

Letty: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Micah: No, she meant-

Corwim: Let she finish. I'll be next.

(it would be funny if they didn't really need therapy)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Cherise: *Gently taps table*

Rosa: *Taps back*

Corwin: What are they doing?

Letty: Morse code.

Rosa: *Aggressively taps table*

Cherise: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

(They were arguing about who won the card game last time)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

That's it! I was really inspired by @ronance4everbrainrot to make this post, I just wanted to have some level of interaction about my fanfic and for it to be fun.

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 4

You think about Tenko more now, but you’re allowed to – he’s your patient, and if he was your patient at the clinic, you’d expect to see him for a follow-up on the four gunshot wounds you cleaned and dressed. You’re allowed to think about him, so you think about him. You think about him a lot.

The thoughts take two directions. One is just wondering about him – how he’s feeling, how he spends his days, what he’s thinking about, what he thinks of you, whether he’s thought about you at all. The other is thinking about the situation he’s in. His parents and grandparents and his sister are dead. He’s been missing for fifteen years. He’s got a quirk and he’s a villain, ambitious and strategic enough to target UA High and escape alive, albeit badly injured. His guardian is a cloud of mist in a suit with some kind of split personality. And there’s someone else in his world – two someone elses. The doctor he referenced, who wouldn’t help him, and the one he calls Sensei, who gave him his new name and a hand to wear over his face and set him up to fail.

You think about Tenko a lot, but you can’t think about him all the time, because now that you’re a nurse, you’re twice as busy as you were before. The doctors expect more of you, and so do the other nurses – and so do the MAs and CNAs and high school students who are starting their apprenticeships, since you now have three years’ experience to go with your reputation for smoothing things over with difficult patients. Your friends keep you busy, too. They might call Kazuo to find out if something’s wrong with them, but they call you to find out what to do about it.

“You need to get a scan,” you say to Yoshimi for probably the fifth time. “I know you don’t want to –”

“It’s weird!”

“Not any weirder than whatever Yoji does when the two of you are at second base,” you say, and in the background of the call, someone snickers. If you had to guess, you’d say it’s Mitsuko – she has the guts to bully Yoshimi into making the call, combined with the brass balls to feel comfortable eavesdropping. “It’s called a mammogram. You’d have to start getting them at some point anyway, just like we all do. It’s just to make sure there’s nothing weird going on.”

“Stop it. You’re freaking her out for no reason.” Yoji’s there, too. “It’s probably just an STD.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second by the sheer classlessness of saying that about one’s own girlfriend, but you bounce back fast. “First of all, they’re called STIs, genius. Secondly, there’s not an STI on the planet that gives you nipple discharge. Yoshimi, get the scan. I’ll go with you if you want. Just get it done.”

“Can I do it at your clinic?”

“Uh –” You glance at the Imaging queue. Things look quiet, but you can’t count on that to last – but if you report Yoshimi’s symptoms, which include soreness, nipple discharge, and what she describes as a weird rash, you’re pretty sure the doctor on call will bump her to the head of the line. “Yeah, come in now. I can’t stick around after my shift, though. I have stuff to do tonight.”

“Ooh, stuff. Let me see –” There’s some rustling, which you can only assume is Mitsuko grabbing the phone. “Is stuff tall, dark, handsome, way too serious, and currently working as a sidekick?”

“That would be stuff,” you admit. “It’s not a big deal. We’re just grabbing a drink after our shifts.”

For the first time since you and Kazuo broke up, you have a date, and it’s Kazuo’s fault. Or maybe it’s you and your friends’ fault, because you decided to throw Kazuo a twentieth birthday party and invited a few of his friends from UA. One of those friends is Sugimura Hiroki, who fits perfectly with your type of dark-haired boys who want to be heroes and who’s so painfully shy that it took him six beers and the entire party to talk to you. You were sort of weirded out by that. You’re not very intimidating, and you spent the first half of the conversation trying to figure out if he knew you were quirkless, since you learned the hard way that it’s something you need to disclose up front. But the two of you eventually worked your way around to the point, which was that Sugimura wants to get to know you better, and he tripped over his tongue so badly that you finally just asked him out to end the suspense.

It’s taken you a while to actually schedule the date, but tonight’s the night, and you’re sort of anxious about it. Luckily, work is busy enough to keep you distracted. Your lunch break ends while Mitsuko is still going into increasingly nasty speculations about Sugimura’s physical attributes, and you hang up the phone without saying goodbye.

There’s a message waiting for you on your computer, from the front desk. FOF. Can you take him?

It’s not Tenko. You know Tenko wouldn’t come here again. You send the same message you did when it was him. How F are we talking?

Jumpy, talking to himself, chainsmoking. He’s in costume.

“In costume” could literally mean that the patient’s wearing a costume, but it’s also code for when the front desk thinks the patient’s a villain. You’re used to dealing with villains by now. Send him back.

When the knock on the door comes, you’re ready and waiting, and the CNA ushers in a tall man in a black-and-grey bodysuit – so “in costume” was literal this time around – and a paper bag over his head. You’re momentarily transfixed by the paper bag, and more so when you realize that he’s bringing a lighted cigarette to his mouth while wearing something highly flammable on his face. The CNA shuts the door and bolts. You face your patient and introduce yourself. “Have a seat if you feel comfortable doing so. What brings you in today?”

“I’m not – whole.”

That’s concerning. “Are you injured?” Your concern grows when he gestures at his face. “It would really help if I could see the injury. Can you take the bag off?”

He shakes his head. Instead he reaches into his pocket and produces a torn full-face mask. You look at him, then at him, putting the pieces together. “How do you feel right now?”

He doesn’t answer – maybe can’t answer – so you default to the face chart you use when little kids aren’t able to express how they feel in words. Your patient points to scared, stressed, anxious, angry. Then he throws in happy, possibly to mess with you, or to distract you from the fact that the first four emotions indicate that he’s ready to snap at any second. “How about this?” you ask, after thinking it over. “I can ask the doctor to give you something that will help you calm down –”

“Please!” The patient bursts out. Drug-seeking? “No, I don’t need it, sister! I’m so calm it’s hard to believe.”

“Okay, then we’ll just have it here in case you decide you want it. As an option,” you say, keeping your voice smooth and calm. “Either way, this is a quiet place to wait. You’re safe in here with me. And if you want, I can sew up your mask for you. Would that help?”

“You can do that?”

“Easily,” you say. “Can I see it for a second? I need to make sure I grab the right thread.”

The patient hands the mask over, which is a good sign. You’ve established at least a little bit of trust. You examine the mask and decide that you’ll need the thinnest-gauge needle and thread you have. “I can definitely fix this,” you tell the patient. “It might look a little rough, but it’ll cover you up like it did before. And it should last until you get where you’re going.”

The patient nods. You stand up. “I’m going to get some supplies, and a little anxiety medication if you decide you want it. I’ll be right back, okay? Just wait here.”

The patient nods again. Given how labile his mood is, you need to be fast about this, and get back before he gets upset or decides to leave. You step out the door and shut it behind you, heading for the supply closet, but you’re waylaid on the way there by one of the doctors. “We need you up front. Now.”

“I can’t. I have a patient, and he’s –”

“I don’t care. We’ve got a hero coming to visit, and we need somebody to keep things calm,” the doctor says. Shit. “Figure out what they want, get them as little of it as you can get away with, and get them out of here.”

“Which hero?”

The doctor shakes his head. Great. “Just hurry.”

You can’t go just yet. “My patient’s got a lot of anxiety and he’s in costume. I need him to stay calm. Can you –”

“2mg diazepam. I’ll put it in the chart.” The doctor unlocks one of the medicine cabinets, extracts a prefilled dosage cup, and hands it to you. “Go.”

Diazepam is long-acting. Hopefully long-acting enough to keep your patient quiet while you get rid of the hero. You skitter back down the hall with the dosage cup and hand it over to the patient, along with a tiny bottle of water to wash it down. “I’ll be right back. Just finding the right thread.”

The patient downs the pill dry, which is both good and bad for you. You shut the door again and head for the lobby. You don’t make it there. A cloud of black mist boils up around you, swallowing you whole.

By the time your feet hit the familiar wooden floor of the bar, you’re already out of patience. “No. Send me back right now.”

“Shigaraki Tomura has need of you. You will assist him.”

“Not right now I won’t. You snatched me from work,” you say. You’re facing the wall and the All Might poster again, and you don’t want to turn around. If you see Tenko, it’ll make it harder to say no. “If I go missing, people will notice. Is he dying?”

“No,” Kurogiri says.

“Is he in imminent danger of dying?”

“No.”

“Then send me back,” you say. If Tenko’s asked Kurogiri to get you, it means he needs medical assistance – or follow-up. You’ve needed to follow up anyway. “I can come back later.”

“No, I need you right now!”

“How much later?” Kurogiri asks, ignoring Tenko’s protest.

You think it over. You can dispense with the hero situation quickly, stitch your patient’s mask, and sneak out of work early. They’ll have to give you the emergency time off. You’ve never asked before in three years of working there. “Ninety minutes.”

“That’s too long. Kurogiri, don’t let her leave!”

“Ninety minutes. I’ll be in the alley behind the clinic.” You ignore Tenko, too, in favor of focusing on Kurogiri. He’s the one who decides if you leave or not. “All right?”

The mist wells up around you again, which counts as a yes. You land on your feet in the hallway, reorient yourself, and head for the lobby again. Tenko wants you again – needs you, your stupid brain corrects – but he’s going to have to wait for you to sort this out.

The hero in the lobby is Uwabami, the Snake Hero, and she’s got two sidekicks with her. No, students. You recognize one of them from your limited viewing of the UA Sports Festival and feel a spike of guilt run through you. She’s from Class 1-A. The same class Tenko tried to kill.

You don’t need to think about that, and you don’t need to feel guilty, because you didn’t do anything to her. You force yourself to focus. Uwabami wouldn’t have brought high school students here if she was doing any kind of investigating, which means your patient and any others who might be nervous around law enforcement are probably safe. The question of why she’s here still remains. You step forward. “Welcome to Yokohama Free Clinic South. What can we help you with today?”

“We’re on patrol,” Uwabami says. “My interns gave some feedback that our patrol involved a little too much publicity –”

The students look unrepentant. Good for them. “So we’re engaging in some down-to-earth patrolling,” Uwabami continues. “Tell us about how heroes support your clinic.”

Heroes don’t support your clinic. Most heroes strongly dislike the free clinic network, and the feeling is mutual, for a bunch of reasons you’re more than willing to articulate. Then you think better of it. Picking a fight with a hero in front of hero students is a bad move if you want to get out of here any time soon, and if you’re going to keep helping Tenko, you need to stay completely off the heroic radar. You focus on the students instead. “You’re on internships, right? They’re supposed to show you what life will be like as a hero.”

“Yes,” the girl who’s not from 1-A says. “They’re supposed to.”

“We have a program like that here, too,” you say. You gesture for them to come forward, and they desert their supervising hero at high speed. “A lot of our nurses and techs started working here in high school. Let me introduce you.”

You’re on much more solid ground talking about this. This clinic and this program saved your ass – without their sponsorship, you’d never have been able to get around your quirklessness as a barrier to nursing school, and you started getting on-the-job clinical training while most other nursing students were stuck in the classroom. You catch yourself evangelizing a little bit, but you don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world to do. You’re proud of the work you do as part of the clinic. It’s nice to get to talk about it.

You clear the hero students out in half an hour, hoping you’ve impressed them even a little bit, then hurry back to your patient. The diazepam’s kicked in nicely, and he chatters away to you while you stitch the tear in his mask. You learn that his name is Jin, or Bubaigawara, or Twice, which you’d guess are his first name, his family name, and his villain name, in that order. He doesn’t say how his mask got torn and you don’t ask, but you send him on his way in a better mood than before. “Thanks, sister,” he says on his way out the door. “You could be worse. You’re a saint!”

Different tone, different pitch, completely different meaning between the first sentence and the second. It reminds you of Kurogiri. You know enough villains now that you can compare them to one another. You shake your head, bemused, then head back inside. Time to guilt-trip your boss into letting you leave two hours early.

Your guilt-trip is successful, mostly because of how you handled the hero situation, but as you’re trying to sneak out, Yoshimi arrives for her scan. After you cajoled her into the office, you can’t abandon her to some random tech. You do abandon Mitsuko in the waiting room, though – she says the words “nipple discharge” as loudly as possible, then starts picking on the scant amount of makeup you did for your date. You don’t feel bad at all for leaving her behind.

Yoshimi’s scan goes quickly, and just like you feared, it nets her a follow-up appointment at the main branch of the free clinic tomorrow. Tomorrow’s your day off. You promise her you’ll go with her – you, and not Mitsuko or Yoji – then talk the doctor into sending her home with a dose of a different anti-anxiety medication than the one you got for Twice. Then you check your phone for the time. Almost ninety minutes exactly. You race out to the alley.

The mist engulfs you almost the instant you set foot in the alley, and you’re in the bar a moment later, facing Kurogiri. Tenko’s nowhere to be found, and before you can ask the question, Kurogiri turns and sets off through a doorway, deeper into the recesses of the building. You follow him, wondering if this counts as being taken to a secondary location. Or maybe the bar counts as the secondary location, even though you’ve been here before. Either way, you’ve listened to way too many of Mitsuru’s true-crime podcasts.

Kurogiri leads you into an absolutely filthy room. The floor is covered – empty wrappers, empty cans, old newspapers and magazines, plastic cases for game disks and chips. You have a bad feeling about who lives here, and when Kurogiri clears his throat and speaks up, you’re proven right. “Shigaraki Tomura. I have brought the girl.”

The only semi-organized spot in the room is a desk with two monitors on it, a keyboard in front of it, and Tenko slumped down with his head pillowed on one arm. He looks up, and for a split second, you can see that he’s happy even behind the hand. Then his face turns bright red and his expression twists into a snarl. “I told you not to bring her in here! Get out!”

You don’t need to be told twice. You duck out the door and retreat about twenty feet down the hallway, listening as Kurogiri tries to placate Tenko. “You asked for her to be brought to you immediately, not for me to summon you when she arrived. I followed your orders to the letter.”

“I didn’t want –” Tenko breaks off, swears. Then he mumbles something, and Kurogiri chuckles. “Don’t laugh at me!”

You check your phone. You aren’t supposed to meet Sugimura until eight, but you’ve got no idea how long this particular encounter is going to run. You might need to tell him you’re running late. You’ve just sent the text and tucked your phone away when Kurogiri reappears. “We will return to the bar,” he says. “Shigaraki Tomura awaits you there.”

So Kurogiri warped him to the bar. You wonder what that was all about. Was Tenko embarrassed that you saw how filthy his room was, or just embarrassed that you saw his room at all? Or did he change his mind about wanting you here? The last thought upsets you. You follow Kurogiri back into the bar and find Tenko sitting at the counter. It’s an improvement from the last time you saw him, when he was sprawled out and bleeding from four gunshot wounds, but this time he’s got his arms crossed, clearly pissed about something. His face is still red behind the hand. There’s a bloodstained bandage taped to his right shoulder.

A pile of supplies appears on the bar as you come closer. “What happened this time?”

“It wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Tenko uncrosses his left arm to gesture at the wound. “This is the fourth one I’ve used.”

If he’s gone through four bandages, it must be pretty deep. “How long ago did it happen?”

“Two hours,” Kurogiri says. “Shigaraki Tomura sent me to retrieve you immediately.”

“Can you fix it or not?” Tenko snaps.

“I need to see it first,” you say. You come a few steps closer, sit down facing Tenko on the barstool next to his, and reach for the bandage. He doesn’t stop you from unwrapping it, and you detour to glove up before you start peeling the fabric of his shirt back from the wound. It’s oozing blood rapidly. It’s jagged at the edges, and deep – if you suctioned the blood away, you’d be looking at exposed muscle, and you’re so horrified by the fact that Tenko’s been badly hurt again that you ask a question you shouldn’t. “How did this happen?”

“Hero Killer,” Tenko says, and your stomach lurches. “I thought he might be useful, but he’s just like the rest of them. Obsessed with the precious Symbol of Peace.”

You don’t know very much about the Hero Killer, except that he kills or cripples heroes and he’s not in Yokohama any longer. Tenko’s still ranting. “Why can’t anybody shut up about All Might? Don’t they know –”

“That he’s not gonna fuck them?” you interrupt, and Tenko nearly chokes. “I guess they can dream.”

Tenko’s expression is contorting behind the hand. You’re pretty sure it’s not the result of your explorations of the wound, because you’re not touching it. You watch, concerned, as his shoulders shake and his mouth twitches, until awkward, rusty laughter finally issues from his mouth.

You always try to make people laugh. You’ve been in the habit since you were little. It’s an effective strategy for defusing tension, whether the joke is funny or not, and your jokes are usually at least kind of funny. But you always liked making Tenko laugh when you were kids. You were always just a little prouder of that than you were with other people. Tenko made people smile all the time. He deserved for somebody to make him laugh, too.

Tenko’s laughter is brief and uneven, because he’s trying to get it under control. “Stop it,” he finally snaps at you. His mouth is still twitching. “It’s serious.”

“Right,” you agree. But you can’t resist another joke. “It would be a novel strategy. If you can’t beat the Symbol of Peace, make him unfuckable instead.”

“I can beat him,” Tenko says, but his voice is strained to the point of snapping, and his shoulders are shaking again. “Can you fix my arm or not?”

“I can fix it,” you say, “but I’ll need a suture kit. And I’ll either need to cut your sleeve or you’ll need to take your shirt off.”

“I’m not taking my shirt off.” Tenko’s face is red again. “It’s ruined anyway. Just cut it.”

You cut his sleeve open from the neckline and peel it back, then go looking through the medical supplies. Kurogiri took your advice about additions to their supplies, and nothing turned up missing at work, which means they honored your request to steal from someone else. You’ve got local anesthetic this time, which is good, because you need it. You start numbing the edges of the wound, asking every so often if Tenko can feel what you’re doing. When he stops saying yes, you open the suture kit.

It’s a bit weird, but putting stitches in is one of your favorite parts of the job. You can get in the zone with it, even when the patient wants to talk. Tenko wants to talk. “People talk about the League of Villains out there. Don’t they?” he asks. You nod. “What do they say?”

“Um –” You’re not sure this is an answer Tenko wants to hear. “They’re wondering why the attack on UA happened.”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Like, if there was a message behind it,” you elaborate. You need to be careful, with the stitches and with this line of thought. “More than just killing All Might, because lots of villains want to do that. If there was a message, it didn’t get out. The police and UA haven’t shared much information – not even how the breach happened in the first place.”

Tenko scoffs. “They don’t have a clue. They won’t see it coming the next time we hit them, either.”

He’s planning something else. Your blood runs cold, and for a moment you’re torn about whether or not to ask. Tenko makes the decision for you. “What else do they say about the League?”

“Not very much, otherwise,” you say, and Tenko swears. “There are a lot of villains, just like there are a lot of heroes. People talk about the ones they see the most of.”

“Which heroes do you talk about?”

“I don’t really talk about heroes.” You tie off a stitch, trim the thread to the appropriate length, and take another. “One of my friends has this nasty crush on Endeavor, so we talk about him sometimes, but otherwise – no.”

“Your friend has a crush on Endeavor,” Tenko repeats.

“Like I said. Nasty.”

You’re conscious of Tenko staring at you, and you will your face not to heat up under his gaze. You don’t even know why he’s staring, and you’ve got stitches to do, so it doesn’t matter. Your phone buzzes in your pocket – probably Sugimura, probably confirming your date. A date you’re not sure you want to go on anymore. Did you ever really want to go on it? Or did you just say yes because –

“You look weird.”

You look up from the stitches, startled. “Huh?”

“You look weird,” Tenko repeats. “Your clothes are different and you’ve got stuff on your face.”

Tenko and Mitsuko feel the same about your makeup skills, apparently. “Sorry.”

“Why do you look like that?” Tenko presses. You tie off his next stitch. “Are you going on a date or something?”

You answer without thinking about whether it’s the smart thing to do. “Yes.”

It’s quiet for a long stretch of seconds. “Go on your date, then,” Tenko says. His voice is flat. “I don’t need you.”

It stings. You don’t want it to, but it does, and you look down at the cut on his shoulder so he won’t see it on your face. “You still need a few more stitches. At least let me finish them.”

“No. Get out.” Tenko jerks out of your grip. You barely have enough time to cut the hanging thread on your last stitch. “I don’t want you here. Kurogiri –”

“Shigaraki Tomura, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“I didn’t ask you!” Tenko swats at you open-handed and you leap backwards. “Get out! I don’t –”

You don’t hear the end of that sentence. Kurogiri warps you away too fast, and possibly saves your life. He drops you back in the alley behind the clinic, holding half a suture kit and still wearing bloodstained gloves. You peel them off and dump them into the garbage, furious with yourself. You shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have talked about your life at all, and above all else, you should have remembered that you were talking to a villain, not your best friend – that whatever’s left of your best friend isn’t enough. He’s angry with you, and he’s been having you followed. Just how angry is he? Angry enough to hurt you? Or angry enough to never talk to you again?

You’re sickened and more than a little scared to realize that you’re more frightened of the latter possibility than the former. It’s entirely possible that you’ve never been in less of a mood to go on a date.

But you do go on the date, because you said you would, and it’s – fine. There’s nothing to complain about, but there’s nothing to be excited about, either. You and Sugimura hug to say goodbye, and you promise to text each other about setting up another one, and then you walk home. Mitsuko texts you, wanting details, or DETAILS, but you’ve got nothing to share. It was just a date, and no matter how many times you try to tell yourself otherwise, you’re angry about it.

Not because of Sugimura asking you out, not because you agreed, not because you went. Because you told Tenko and gave him a reason to get rid of you. Why does this keep happening? Why do you keep finding him and losing him, over and over again? What is it going to take for you to hold on?

“So how was the date?”

The voice emanates from the alleyway on your right and you nearly jump out of your skin. Tenko’s there, hand down from over his face, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t changed his shirt. “I didn’t think heroes were your type.”

“They aren’t.”

“Then why were you on a date with one?”

“He asked.”

“And you just go with whoever asks?” Tenko looks half-incredulous, half-disgusted. You shake your head. “Forget it. Come with me.”

You shake your head again and take a step back – away from the alley, closer to the street. Tenko looks frustrated. “Come with me,” he repeats.

“What, so you can kill me?” You take another step back, well into the glow of a streetlight. You see shock flicker across Tenko’s face. “I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I don’t want to kill you,” Tenko fires back. He looks surprised at himself for saying it, but only for a moment – then he repeats himself, with more conviction. “I don’t want to kill you. You’re supposed to be my sidekick.”

Your jaw drops. “You remember?”

“I don’t remember everything.” Tenko takes the hand called Father out of the back pocket of his pants and studies it for a moment. Then he puts it away. “I remember that.”

Some kids played a different game every day. You and Tenko always played the same one, with a rotating cast of classmates at your side. All the heroes in the world were working together to fight one big villain, the worst villain the world had ever seen, and Tenko could never decide which hero he liked best, so he played a different one every day. But no matter which hero he played, no matter who else was playing with the two of you, you were always his sidekick. You reminded him every day that you didn’t have a quirk, and he always said the same thing in response, no matter which hero he was pretending to be that day, even though he didn’t have a quirk, either: You don’t need a quirk to be on my side. My quirk’s enough for both of us.

“Come on,” Tenko says again. He holds out his hand, three fingers and his thumb folded down, his pinky finger extended towards you. “Are you coming or what?”

You’ve never seen the world in black and white, but some things are unmistakable: There’s a line here, not visible to others but clear as day to you. On one side of it is Tenko and the darkness that’s swallowed him, the evil that surrounds him, the terrible things he’s done and is planning to do. On the other side is everything else – your dreams, your friends, your family that’s always loved you but used you anyway, a world that’s punished you time and time again for being born without a quirk, the knowledge that the world is so much crueler to so many others. You don’t think Tenko’s planning to kidnap you, to never let you leave. You’ll come back here, physically. You’ll go home and go to sleep and wake up early on your day off to take Yoshimi to her appointment at the main clinic, but you know instinctively that if you cross this line within yourself, there’s no coming back. Tenko was your best friend when you were five years old. Is he worth it?

You hate yourself for asking the question. You leave the light behind and link your finger with Tenko’s. “Where are we going?”

The black mist rises and wells up around you both. “You’ll see,” Tenko says, and for the first time since you found him again, he smiles.

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT: ??? Months “Your choice”

“There you are! I was getting worried, your directions were awful for finding this café.”

“We both know I suck at directions, hope you didn't get rained on too much. Sorry for making you visit me over and over. I remember you said you’re not a fan of Hyper city”

“You know I like the rain, and this place makes it easier to visit you anyway. Now lemme just get the seat closer to you…

So how are you hun. Is the recovery going alright? Have you gotten any memories back?”

“A couple, yeah. I remember the name of that other slime I met a while ago. Sandy I think.”

“You think?”

“Memories are hard, please don't push me.”

“Sorry. Well it's good that you're healing, and you're not taking that stuff again right? 

… right hun?!”

“I'm not, I'm not. Tomorrow is the last day I have to wait before I can legally take it again. Right now I'm just wondering if I should wait longer or not.”

“Don't do anything that isn't safe hun. I know this means a lot to you, I can't say I know what you're going through, cause I'm not a therian or otherkin or whatever like you. But please be safe, I don't like worrying about you… What's that on your phone? You're clearly hiding it.”

“It's nothing, I'm just running a poll, I want to see what the internet would do in my circumstance.”

“Hun!…”

“I'm not going to make my decision based on what random people have to say. I'm probably not even going to post it. I mean it's a pretty cool, textbook grey choice. Survive less happy than I could have been, or risk everything to finally feel normal and free… Please don't look at me like that.”

“You sound a lot happier about one of those choices hun, and it makes me scared.”

“...Y'know I've actually been thinking about moving into Hyper city. Roommates are ok with it as long as I give them a few months to search for a new place. We could also visit each other whenever. There's still a lot of problems here, but it still feels like there's less discrimination here than back home. I even have a good idea for what I want to do here! I'm studying to become a psychiatrist and work for Dr. Erian. He could really use someone who has a positive amount of bedside manners. There's a couple other doctors there but-

“I thought the plan was for us to live together?”

“...We will, when things get better back home. At least here it's easier for us to see each other, and I don't have to pretend I can't hear people whispering I'm a freak. At least, not as much. Nothing's changed long term.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, you don’t have to worry, everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to do anything stupid, but I don’t think it would be a bad thing if I started my HRT again after tomorrow. I know I can regain my memories slowly, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“There is a problem! You think it’s fine if you forget everything? Look, it's great that some of your memories are back, but that doesn’t mean all of them are gonna come back. You’re being reckless again. Your life isn’t something you can keep tossing around without expecting us to hold you down. Hun, you need to stop hurting yourself.”

“...I’m not hurting myself. I’m just trying to live my life. I don’t want to upset you, but you have to realize this is the most important thing for me right now. If I mess this up, then nothing is going to go well. I understand that you’re scared, but please think about how I feel. I’d be having heart palpitations if that were still possible. This choice needs a clear head to figure out. I don’t think either of us have that.”

“Maybe. You’re going to be fine right? You won’t die from this or anything right?”

“No, I’m not going to die. The doc made sure it’s going to be safe at this point. We just have to hope he’s wrong about the side effects, and before you go saying he’s a trained endocrinologist, you haven’t met him, and I don’t even think he knows all that much. Trust me, you’d realize what I mean if you met him.”

“But he knows more than you do hun.”

“Ok, yeah, but it’s clear this is still all new to him too. He’s never been right about when any of the changes will happen or what the side effects would be. He made me sign an NDA about slipping into a three day coma. He’s clearly more afraid his medical license will be revoked than any actual permanent damage he’ll inflict."

“Aren’t you breaking that NDA right now?”

“I don’t have to listen to that. Besides, as long as the internet doesn’t hear about it, then it’s fine. It's not like you're gonna shout this conversation to the rooftops… don't actually tell anyone else, I'd rather not get in trouble again.”

“So, where are you staying anyway? You said the houses here are pretty expensive right? Do you have enough savings to find a place?”

“There's a non-profit place called T.H.E.M.S, they can find me a place to stay while I try to find a more permanent residence here. They have an on-site doctor too, so you don't have to worry even harder now.”

“Hey, you can't fault me for worrying about my girlfriend! That's good there's going to be a doctor nearby. I'm glad. Stay safe hun.”

“I will, don't worry. Now come on, less talking about depressing medical stuff, more pictures of tiny foods! Right now I want to show you the cute cupcakes this place has!

“Oh they’re shaped like little dragons!”

“It's so cute, right?”

...

Click… Post sent!

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Mention list: @a-shramp , @calliecwrites

Thanks for reading slime HRT so far. It's been so much fun for Navi to write and we hope you enjoy it. This marks about a third of what we plan to do. If you're confused about the terms Hyper city or T.H.E.M.S you can check out information about them. Pretty important since this is gonna be the location for the rest of the series. Anyway, thank you for reading. It means the world to us. bye-bye!

-Sweetheart💖

[dilucsfav]

have you ever made a fanfic of the reader being a dom to people who are least expected to be a sub, example is dottore since people think he's a dom or even zhongli?

NO IVE ACTUALLY NOT REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS?? well i have but never acted on such deed (no shame in the sinning game)

I had lots of fun with this! ive never written for some of these characters before so this was a challenge :) PLEASE TELL ME IF YALL WANT A FEMALE VERSION, THERE ARE SO MANY DOMMY MOMMY CHARACTERS I COULD WRITE ABT

also,,, should i do this with very sub/switch genshin men, except them being dom to the reader instead?? like for example kaeya, tighnari, xiao, childe, scara YES SCARA IS A FUCKING SWITCH DONT EVEN ARUGE WITH ME

idk y’all should let me know anyways here’s your guys’ meal of men tonight

dom reader x genshin men hcs & scenarios (ft. dottore, zhongli, cyno, alhaitham, diluc, dain, ayato)

warning(s): LOTS of nsfw,,, actually mainly that tbh LMFAO

Dottore

at first, he'd only let you toy w/ him cuz he thought it was cute and he could easily tease you about it later

but shocker... you actually end up flustering him in the process. dummy fooled himself tbh

actually he was quite surprised that you were able to suade him with your words and body language

"Oh, doctor... don't keep me waiting...!" you'd moan and cry, grab his shirt collar and yank him to your lips, teasing his throat with your thumb and giving his body glances

made his little act crack SO fast

you'd easily get some neck kisses in while he's dazed, his flustered face staring ahead as his hands hesitate to wrap around your pretty hips

bro is high key into biting?? like definitely would allow you to squeeze a hickey or 2 in

oh, youre a big sweet talker?? good, use that to your advantage cuz you could REALLY tease this harbinger through facial expressions and super good fucking persuasive language

^^the tone of your voice... mhm that's what makes him crack

his throat between your fingers and a smirk on your lips as you kiss the tall, flustered man. literally he doesnt know what to do LMAO

HE'D COVER IT UP TOO LMAO CUZ BEING VULNUERABLE IS TOO EMBARASSING FOR THIS DICK FACE

every time you try to bring it up he'd instantly deny his reaction

^^"I was not flustered. I was just allowing you to have some fun."

dw doctor daddy, we all know ur a fucking dirty lier

call him a good boy, see what he does

Zhongli

yeah so- this man probably folds so easily over you

spoiling this big baby with kisses will result in his blushing mess of a face. trust me.

"My dear Zhongli, hush. Please let me do this for you."

^^barely takes any begging from your part. he'd allow you to spoil him any day

secretly just loves it but shh you dont know that <3

every kiss and peck and hhhhh will just make his blush grow

bonus points if you include inappropriate touching

"im the geo archon" this, "im rex lapis" that...... but how about we talk about his moans when you pull his fucking hair?

(or the crack in his voice when he's begging you to do the nasty w/ him)

^^ or his whimpers when you give him hickies?? he'd ABSOLUTELY be into marking, and you cant change my whore ass mind

stop cuz when you fluster him he instantly becomes so submissive its literally so funny

he would literally convince you with his fucking noises HES SO VOCAL JUST LIKE ITTO

(actually now that i think about it, the only geo character that wouldnt be vocal would be albedo? god hes so fucking hot i need to write for him soon

you being all cute n shit is enough for his breath to be taken away. hes so so in love w/ you hhhhhhhhhh

Cyno

cyno is literally so fucking daddy he makes me-

your actions would fluster him. i dont think he'd ever admit it, or be super vocal about liking it, but he'll never try to stop you (cyno is such a manwhore i'd fuck him so fast yall dont even try me)

yall ever thought about cyno's STRONG love for riding? no? hahah,,,.............

well i fucking have.

^^he would just lay back and let you ride him omfg me next pls

^^...perhaps small thumb rubs into the side of your thigh to encourage you to keep going. only if youre lucky ofc gotta be grateful

"Ah, Cyno... gonna be a good boy for me and let me f-fuck you? Hm, mm?"

phew the reader is kinda hot idk, kinda want them to dominate me instead of cyno

OMG STOP THIS ISNT NSFW OR ANYTHING BUT HE'D GET SO FLUSTERED N HAPPY IF YOU LAUGH AT HIS SHITTY FUCKING JOKES. HE'D BLUSH AND GET ALL NERVOUS AND HAPPY HELP

(this is random, has nothing to do with the fucking hcs, but yall seen that tighnari x cyno nsfw drawing on twitter where kaveh spends the night w/ them and tighnari is riding cynos dick with kaveh trying to sleep next to them? and kaveh is like "i wanna go home..." no? just me? k.)

would probably get flustered if you two are making out and you use tongue. idk cynos a little silly. definitely weird ass would let you spit and lick all over him and he’d thank you, what a manwhore

Alhaitham

who wouldve ever imagined a submissive haitham? not me for sure

he'd literally gasp when youre being dominant and teasing his pretty cock

chokes on his words. he'd probably let you choke him with a necklace, collar, or just something around his neck that you could pull

oh you thought i was joking? no.

"be a good boy, now, Haitham. only good boys get rewards. Do you think you deserve it?"

^^as you’re pulling the bidings against his neck

ok personally alhaitham isnt my type, but if ur taking submissive alhaitham...?... i may. MAY. SLIGHTLY jog for him

jokes on him, you'd get a such a rise and pleasure from his submissive ass

unfortunately... we have yet another victim of the big tiddy game. he'd totally want you to touch all over his man titties

^^not even just the boobs, he turns into an absolute slut when you praise his body

trace your fingers all over his abs and watch him get off so fast LMAO

when i die, i hope i dont get to the gates of heaven and get dragged down to hell cuz i like writing about silly little submissive men getting hard

I FEEL LIKE HE ALSO JUST WOULDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO?? SO WHILE YOURE DOING YOUR THING N SHIT HE’D KINDA JUST STARE AT YOU? flustered haitham at a loss for words, how cute 💔💔

hear me out hear me out. he’d praise you sm but in like a “please keep going im gonna cum” submissive type of way? you know what i mean?

ngh imagine his face getting all pathetic and weak god ngh im no slut for alhaitham but god

Diluc

I LOVE YOU DILUC, PLEASE LET ME CALL YOU MY GOOD BOY AND MY DARKNIGHT HERO AND ALL THAT CORNY SHIT

anyways

i rarely see any sub diluc fics i need to fix that soon BUT ANYWAYS

when hes being bossed around by you he'd become such a whore but in such a respectful way

HE'D ABSOLUTELY SAY "yes sir/ma'am" when youre the dom GOODDDKDKDD

he' take your wrists whilst he’s on his knees, staring up at you, waiting patiently for you to command him

im drooling as im writing these for diluc btw btw

he's not really used to such attitude but he wont question it in the moment CUZ HE LOVES THE ATTENTION

hear me out, HEAR ME OUT.

^^^ ….ive always headcanoned this, but diluc is definitely NOT a dirty talker (i strongly believe this fight me) or tbh i don’t think he’s that good of a talker during sex either way

^^^ but hear me out. imagine he’s like fucking you, but your fingers are holding the back of his ponytail to keep his face jerked forward, where your lips are just touching his ear lobe while you praise him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear?

ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING ARE YOU HEARING ME OUT, DONT TELL ME HE WOULDNT FOLD AND GET FLUSTERED FROM PRAISE

“Mmm, oh s-so good for me! Keep it going, ahh, just like that. That’s my Diluc.”

drooling sweating crying sobbing and

i think he’d totally be down bad for some soft dom… like you praising him, commanding him and being rough with him, but at the same time so lovingly and gently?? yes pls hes totally down

Dainsleif

y’all dain simps are some other type of down bad fr (that’s a good thing i promise)

absolutely another victim of loving riding. absolutely. HE’D BE A BOTTOM SO FAST IF THAT MEANT HE WAS ABOUT TO BE RODE FR

dain would whimper. im literally so right

this has nothing to do with him being submissive but why the hell would he sweat so fucking much during sex? idk i love dain but he looks so musty IM SORRY IT HAD TO BE SAID

not trying to dain slander im sorry im just nervous ive never written for him b4💔💔

call him a bad boy and naughty and tease him just a bit and he’ll fold

honestly i think teasing him just would make him so antsy, so on edge, so desperate and impatient, he would just get all whiney and flustered and such a manwhore

HES THE FUCKING DEFINITION OF MANWHORE LETS BE HONEST HERE

push him against the mattress, maybe even yank his hair a little and tell him he’s a piece of shit that needs to beg for attention and to be kissed by your gorgeous lips

stop if you gave him a blowjob and tease him until he can’t take it just imagine tears staining his cheeks while he’s begging you to give him a break

HE WOULD CALL YOU MOMMY/DADDY. HE ABSOLUTELY WOULD YOU LITERALLY CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND IDFC

he’d curse from overstimulation, prolly screaming “shit” 80 million times and “fuck” every time you chuckle or smirk at his desperate ass

“Oh, you want me to stop? When you begged and pleaded me to touch you badly, Dain?”

^^ i can imagine you listened and stopped, but then he’d get sad and beg for it again LMAO

such a mess for you and wouldn’t try hiding it tbh

Ayato

okay im actually so excited to write for him, ive never written for ayato but i’m not really into ayato im sorry guys (i like his sister though)

It kinda startled him a bit when your fingers grazed his chest and you pinned him against a wall—

would actually kinda fight it at first?? but he also wouldn’t after a while cuz he looks down on everybody and thinks he’s better than everybody else LMFAO live laugh love ayato

anyways,,, when you’ve got him between your fingertips, instantly you become royalty to him.

you are called either ma’am/sir, or you’re called my lady/prince/your majesty

^^or some shit like that idfk ayato’s fucking wild as hell

hear me out… ayato’s absolutely, 100%, definitely, into sucking your fingers

just imagine you’re going to town on his dick and you shove your fingers down his throat to make him stop crying so fucking loud

god and he’s totally into it pls— sucking on your fingers so good so that he’s quiet just for you🙏

“Hush up, Ayato. You don’t want Thoma to hear you when you’re this vulnerable to me, do you?”

bro would gag and cry and grip your body and and

he’d so rough, dirty, submissive, but just like diluc, in a respectful way

imagine brushing your thumb on his beauty marks and the little moles he has— his heart would skip a beat

dw, you and ayato wouldn’t have to worry abt bothering anybody cuz im fucking thoma in the next room

[tree-obsession]

2.2 SPOILERS!! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

this is a small lore discussion! mostly speculation and theories- i have not seen leaks about 2.3 plot yet, but i have seen a couple about boothill's character stories, so please keep that in mind!

trigger for mentions of suicide(aventurine) and mega corps(the ipc)

we have to talk about the ending cutscene with aventurine and boothill more! i'll start with my fav parts that no one really has brought up yet:

Aventurine intimidating Boothill after mentioning the guards are out- Boothill sounded so offput and hasty while reassuring him they were just knocked out, and we have to talk about aventurine himself just being intimidating more honestly his glare actually did kind of scare me.

Boothill pointing a gun at aventurine was. well. i'm sorry i did actually laugh at that. boothill i think you should research your targets a bit more honestly that guy is NOT afraid of guns. he fully walked into the nihility and pointed at least one gun at himself, and just got out of his own meticulously-planned suicide. threats of death won't work, sorry. also he has good reason to hate oswaldo schneider as well- threats didn't even have to be used, probably! he would kill him too, probably(revenge arc go go go!!)

the convo between aven and jade was. yeah. why he's betting his life again, i don't know (maybe sarcasm? or it was really just banter?) but it does seem like the two of them aren't super close at all, at least from what little i could gather. also if diamond hurts aventurine the entire fandom will kick his ass, emanator or no, so he better be prepared for that too lol. also, it was a pretty common theory aventurine would leave the ipc after exiting nihility, since acheron presumably broke his ties- i wonder why he went back? perhaps he had no plans as to where to go, or he has some ulterior motive?

how did he get out of nihility so unscathed? (for context, i haven't gotten aven's text messages yet, but i'm aware of some of their contents since they've been floating around w/out spoiler tags. the messages are mentioned a bit here if you wanna avoid spoilering!) i know argenti got him out, but 1) why was argenti there, or where did he even find him? and 2) that seems so random- both argenti and jade confirmed it, but plot-wise what's even the point of argenti pulling him out? also argenti said he was in a "woeful state" when he got out, and apparently the stonehearts are willing to give aven a break (which i'm assuming is major, since stonehearts are super important and have a lot of responsibility, plus he just destroyed a cornerstone) so him already being back on his feet when we see the phone call is a bit weird right away. he doesn't even sound sick, and ratio or any other doctor is nowhere in sight! (message spoilers start here) i'm aware the aventurine cornerstone was fully shattered/destroyed while protecting him from nihility- was he really in there for who-knows-how-long without any protection at all? he's apparently having nightmares and the ipc needed to call in a doctor of chaos to treat him, which is concerning considering his mental health and general will to live were extremely low even before walking into the nihility. like he genuinely has some of the worst will to live i've ever seen in a character or human being- walking through the nihility should have utterly destroyed him mentally and physically, but it didn't. 2.3 HAS to give us a whole lotta context, especially with nihility lore (my favorite aeon, i may be biased) and more about the ipc!

anyway, thank you for reading this poorly formatted, stream-of-consciousness word vomit about 2.2's aventurine lore. hope you liked it! drop ur thoughts in replies and reblogs plz they give me life(although i will be very busy next few weeks, so please don't be offended if you want a reply and don't get it, im so sorry!)

2.2 was peak- a bit slow, but the story was some of the best, if not the best stuff hoyo has given us in terms of writing quality. so great! i cried for sure, and that boss battle was just everything- especially the music. robin my lesbian queen if i didn't have to pull for firefly i would get your lightcone for sure...

see you all next time! thx for sticking around (:

[sangwooooh]

Why won’t you speak?

“As I am standing over your dead, rotting body, I wonder: are you cold?”

Story: between Dick and Jason, Bruce adopts another hurt boy. M/n was around before Dick left, so he really considers him his older brother. When Jason comes around, M/n can’t help but feel jealous. After all, M/n is weak. He can’t be Robin.

Warnings and additional notes: M/n is using crutches to walk because of a car accident in which he took part at the age of twelve, the car accident that killed his parents. Bruce Wayne takes him under his wing, making sure he gets all the medical support he needs, making sure he is cared for. M/n is envious of Bruce’s soft spot for Jason. Major character death. Canon compliant… ? There are things added by me, of course.

—. —

The large doors of the library open with a burst of uncharacteristic storm.

“When has Batman died and put you in charge.” Jason’s shoes make an almost soundless approach in M/n’s direction.

M/n chuckles, “Oh my, aren’t you an opinionated little brat?”

Jason’s tongue clicks. No. He ain’t doing this shit. He takes a few more steps towards his tormentor.

“ I am Robin.” He points towards his chest. “Me. Not you, M/n. I should be in charge, not you.” He might not be in his suit, but he is Robin. And not even this bastard could take that away from him.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen here, you little asshole. You need to calm down. I don’t like you getting in my face. You annoy me. ” M/n rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms, leaning on the windowsill. The library is getting too crowded for the both of them. “Well, you don’t really have a choice. I’m older, more responsible. Don’t you have to listen to me or something?” Jason locks eyes with his fake brother, watching the words fall from his lips like boredom in the wind.

“You’re only two years older. Don’t act superior just because you’ve been here a little longer than me.” Jason wants to scoff, instead he draws back. Only to rethink his decision and bite. “Even so, I am Robin. And you’re just sickly prickly M/n. Nothing special there.”

There is a crack in M/n’s smile. Small, but noticeably there. Almost makes Jason regret it. Almost.

M/n scoffs, hiding the hurt, “You need to calm down, little asshole. It’s Alfred who holds the rule anyway. Don’t even know why you’d think it’d be useless, little me.” M/n tilts his head tauntingly, picking up his crutches and making his way out of the library. “Congratulations though. You’re pathetic.”

Jason rubs his eyes in exasperation. They will never get along. Never.

“Master M/n, is everything alright?” M/n tries to calm himself, almost bumping into Alfred. He feels like he’s gonna burst, but he can’t let the tears fall.

“Oh, Alfred… Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” M/n forces a smile. And he is sure it doesn’t fool Alfred. The elder man always knows.

“It’s quite alright, Master M/n. My question stands, however. Is everything alright?”

M/n averts his eyes, “Of course.” He stumbles a bit with his crutches as he tries to pass Alfred.

“You should try and get along with Master Jason. He is family. You two are family now, Master M/n.”

M/n doesn’t even feel like protesting. This Jason boy came after Dick left, almost as if their father was trying to replace his oldest son. And M/n can’t bear the thought of that. Of course he doesn’t like Jason. They’ll probably never get along.

“Alright then.” Alfred smiles and helps M/n down the stairs. “How about some tea?”

M/n relaxes slightly in the comfort of Alfred’s warm arms, “That sounds great, Alfred.”

Going down the stairs is becoming harder and harder for M/n. It’s like his legs are becoming lazier and lazier, which is normal considering the doctors already informed them about the changes waiting to happen. M/n doesn’t dwell on it most of the time. However, there are those moments of silence in which he can’t help but want to hit his head with something or accidentally drop one of those candles onto his own clothes. Jason had caught him in one of those moments in the library earlier. M/n gets nastier in terms of behavior around then, and truly he doesn’t have any interest in insulting Jason that much (just a little). The little prick just knows how to find his moments.

They get to the bottom of the stairs, but Alfred doesn’t let go. The man really knows everything.

When Bruce gets home, things haven't necessarily changed in any way. Alfred meets Bruce in the foyer, as it usually is when Bruce comes back from business. And then there is Jason who runs ahead of his brother and forcefully throws himself at Bruce with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. The man once young boy himself remembers owning the world once, it was not bare then. Behind, with struggle unfit for a child, M/n staggers forth with his ebony crutches. Jason does not let go of his hugs easily, in fact he holds on as if Bruce would disappear if he ever dared to let go earlier than he should. Thus, the man lets his son hug him tight. Moments later, Jason reluctantly lets go, making way for his older brother, who visibly stumbles on an uprise in the carpet.

M/n yelps as one crutch gets caught in the crimson material. He falls in front of everyone's eyes, but is caught by Alfred who is nearer to him. Bruce wants to reach out, he would've reached out. Yes. If, just so, he were closer to his son. Alas, distance is great in between them.

They head into the living room where Jason tells Bruce all about his exploits around the manor and how Bruce’s bedroom is actually haunted when he isn’t there. That gets a smile out of the man, rare as they are. His life has become increasingly livelier since Jason became part of the family. After all, the quiet of Dick’s departure was sadly difficult for one little M/n to fill, though the efforts were there. Bruce just… couldn’t make himself meet his son halfway.

After dinner Alfred corners him in the emptiness of Bruce’s study (not his, his father’s study). The older man wears that look on his face, the one he shows only to Bruce and especially when he ‘s done something bad, like stealing a cookie when he was younger, or choosing to dress up as a bat.

“You should talk to him more.” Alfred keeps his eyes on Bruce and the man once boy under that gaze doesn’t know if he should look away or try to dominate the stare down. It’s an automatic response, he reckons. It would never work on Alfred, either way.

“Jason is fine, he talks to me now.” That gets another smile out of Bruce. He fears these days he is getting stiffer, body hardening with the darkness and the years. Maybe he is actually growing softer?

“It’s not Jason I’m worried about, sir.” Alfred leans forward and places a tray with two cups and a teapot on it. It smells good, roses and camomile?

“M/n? Should I think there’s something wrong with him?” Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, sir. Should you not?” Alfred continues to look at him, almost as if his eyes harden. It’s hard to tell, even with the bat’s experience.

“Is something wrong with him?” Bruce takes a seat on his father’s old leather chair that was once black but now tints to brown. The chair sighs underneath him with tiredness becoming of age.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, sir?”

Bruce would ask. He really would. He should… but it’s late. The boy probably sleeps already. “It’s late, Alfred. Some other time, perhaps?”

Alfred scrutinizes him, yet ends in a half concealed sigh. He wasn’t going to tell his Bruce, the stubborn and with years worth of guild child he so much wished fulfillment to about how his son still stands at the dinner table, ashamed to ask for help and beating himself down over how he would never be good enough to help his father the way his younger brother does. No, Alfred shall deal with that himself, as he always does. Foolish master Bruce. He ends with a, “You know best, sir.”

Bruce doesn’t know best. He’s never felt himself as holding the power of knowing whats and ifs and what ifs. The ‘what if’ of the situation, it always arises at the time when his weakness fills him with the dread of what has been. What if he’d said “let’s stay for another movie” the night his parents died. What if he’d spent more time trying to talk with Dick instead of arguing foolishly and towards nothing, like the boy wasn’t the son he so cared for, like he hadn’t been the only once. What if he’d listened to Alfred and talked with M/n more, mended the disruption between him and Jason. What if he’d protected Jason the way he should’ve protected him, the way his soul screamed to keep the boy safe because how can you let someone else suffer when it is you who should have been? It should never have been Jason. Not his Jason. Not his boy. Not his hope and his dreams and the one he holds as if he were holding his younger self. Not the Jason who laughed so hard whenever something remotely funny came to light. Not the Jason who ran to the door to welcome Bruce, jumping into his arms with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it. ‘Welcome home, dad.’ Not… Not Jason. Not Jason, God, please, not him. Don’t let it be like this, Bruce’s soul screams as it trashes and shoves and splits, stabbing and scratching and killing to get out.

Jason Todd, beloved son and brother, full of fire and full of life

with all his young years and fire thrumming in his veins, like he owns the world and Bruce, as well, with it

The morning Bruce has to come home and let Alfred and M/n know that Jason won’t be home for dinner tonight or any other night, the sun shines on a clear sky. It smiles upon the Wayne lands, over the gardens and the pond. M/n is there with the flowers, reading a book. ‘The three musketeers’ the title reads. Does M/n enjoy reading? Maybe he does. Bruce isn’t around enough to figure out a pattern.

M/n’s eyes raise from the pages, smile a bright one, as the sun above them with a glint in his eyes and hair tussled with sleep and the ends of dreams.

Bruce must look all the wiser and the better and the all powerful because his son’s smile becomes smaller with what Bruce can only read as surprised… a little concern as well.

“Welcome back, dad.” The boy speaks, voice carried by the breeze and the petals of the flowers.

Bruce says nothing. He can’t bring himself to. Because how can you ever begin. How… How do you tell your son his brother has died before they even had the chance to make up after an argument? How do you let your son know, he will be in a quiet house yet again? How do you tell your son you’ve killed his brother?

M/n’s smile falters yet again. And he must sense something because he looks around. Behind Bruce, to the gate, to the flowers and to the door where no one but Alfred stands.

“Where is Jason?” His smile is gone by now, replaced by something akin to curiosity. “Did he get lost?” A small laugh bursts at that.

M/n locks eyes with Bruce again.

Bruce isn’t smiling. His lips haven’t even twitched. In fact, Bruce thinks he is getting worse by the second and it must be showing in some way because M/n forces himself to keep a smile on as he struggles to get up with the help of a crutch. He almost falls twice, but stands almost straight soon, book closed in hand, a finger inside to keep the page. The boy is pretty far into the book. Bruce doesn’t know if it’s the first, the second or the third volume.

“Dad… are you alright?” His son asks him with those alight eyes that speak the language of the sun and the moon. He looks around again, maybe he hopes to see the brother he so is annoyed by. There is no annoyance in his eyes. “Where is Jason, dad? I didn’t see him go inside.”

There’s a shake in Bruce’s eyes, a tremor of the lips. M/n pushes himself forward on the crutch. It gets stuck in the grass for a second, but it does not stop the son from approaching the bat with no suit, no protection.

A shove closer, half a stumble backwards.

“… dad?” Bruce lets his son see his head fall down, down, down, looking at the grass next to his shoes. Bruce thinks he shook his head somewhere in between the burn of the sun on his neck and the thud of ‘The three musketeers’ by Alexandre Dumas, fallen to the earth. For a moment, Bruce imagines the volume as his own head, rolling on the too green grass, blood dried and burned by the sun.

“M/n… Why do you hate me?”

“…”

“Have I… done something that wrong? I know I can be annoying and loud and sometimes want attention, but I don’t mean what I say to you. I never do, not the bad stuff at least.”

“I… I don’t hate you, Jason. How could I? You’re everything I wish I was.”

“Why?”

“Aha… I think I say all I say and blame you all the time because, not so deep down, I’m envious of you.”

“Envious? How could you possibly be envious of me? You’re older and you’re smart… and you don’t get into trouble with the teachers.”

“Ha, well, I suppose I’m envious because dad is close to you, the way he isn’t with me. And… and because you are with him the way I could never manage.”

“But… it’s really not that hard. Just talk to dad, I’m sure it’s gonna be alright.”

“Aren’t you wise.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious, M/n. If you want something, just do it.”

“See? That’s why I’m envious of you.”

… or maybe I admire you for it. Is what M/n imagines late at night, a conversation that could have been between Jason and him, especially close after the funeral, when Dick drinks in his room and their dad drinks in his study and Alfred cleans up the dinner none of them really taste any more, but only eat as unfeeling corpses coveted in a quiet house.

Part 2:

[ketterdamskaelishprince]

lenore and the yellow wallpaper (a ramble)

so this is all one entire big and large ramble session from me, so ignore if you want because this has no actual point, and i also haven't touched the yellow wallpaper since i handed it in with my coursework so i'm bound to get things wrong. this is no high-brow analysis, this is just be rambling. i've finally gotten the courage as well to go on the big scary tumblr and speak so be nice please :)

anyways, now we have that out of the way– i bring you my observation.

so i've been rereading nevermore (because i am deep in the trenches of my hyperfixation on it right now and have firmly planted myself there) and i noticed something in episode 21 that i remember noticing the first time.

just for a recap, episode 21 is when they're facing the dementophobia trial, and lenore has gotten herself sucked into a hallucination. through this, we (presumably along with her) are shown parts of her past, and the fallout of her brother dying. in a long scene, we basically see the attic which lenore is forced to 'rest' in.

sorry if this is like an obvious tell, but my little rat brain was vibrating out of my seat to say this.

well, first off, let me just give you a little summary of the yellow wallpaper. we have this nameless woman (who's married) who's also our narrator, her husband: john who's a doctor and we also have john's sister: jennie. jennie isn't too important in the summary but she exists and stuff and there's loads of journals out there probably that could tell you super interesting things about her role in the story.

anyways, i digress. the narrator has been diagnosed with slight nervous tendencies and is given the rest cure therapy as treatment. she ends up slowly going insane in the attic (?) which doubles as a nursery, and there's this fugly yellow wallpaper, which the narrator comments to be basically like a crime to art and to colour in general. anyways, the more she stares at this wallpaper and the longer she stays in the attic, she starts to see a woman behind the wallpaper– and the short story ends with her ripping the wallpaper off and freeing the woman but then also, the story ends essentially with her throwing herself out of the window of the attic and yeah, suicide. there's like allusions to the woman behind the wallpaper and her being one at the end, but WE AREN'T FOCUSSING ON THAT, i've rambled enough.

anyways, how does this all link to nevermore?

THIS PANEL RIGHT HERE.

idk, the act of ripping off the wallpaper just distinctly reminded me of the yellow wallpaper, and i have no idea if the creators drew inspo from the yellow wallpaper for this or if it was one of poe's works (i'm not heavily versed in all of his works, but i have a collection of his stuff i should probably sift through and read). but yeah, thought it was cute.

i know thematically they probably vary, but there is something to be said that both of them are in a situation where society wants so badly to silence them and punishes their defiance with the diagnosis 'madness'.

i dunno, just a nice little thought. there's also the whole rest cure therapy too, and the fact that they're both in the attics of their homes– and i presume lenore is in a secluded countryside place here like the narrator of the yellow wallpaper is. so, you know– other connections!

also, as a side note–

this bad boy right here? ether? well some ether smells sweet, so i thought maybe (as a very dumb end to this ramble) that maybe, lenore associates the sweet smelling scent of what she used to be knocked out with to the sweet scent of flowers– i have no idea if that's why she hates flowers but i thought that was a fun little mention. food for thought, you know?

anyways, if you disagree that is totally ok, i truly don't know what i'm talking about half the time, but this has been bouncing on my tiny brain for the past few days and i decided i needed to let it out before i start plaguing the people i know in real life with my obsession. and also, friends, feel free to correct me if i'm disgustingly wrong on anything– i love to learn <3

and... yeah, that's all folks. gonna go rot now :)

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 2

Note: slight allusion of SA all i do is think about the past

You did consider calling out sick, but it’s Friday and you can just stare at your screen for eight hours and then sleep for two straight days.

You’re making the trek from your car to the office and you’re absolutely positive you look like hell. Sure, your hair and makeup is done, but there’s no masking the exhaustion in your bones. You drag yourself through the door and past everyone else headed to their various workstations, including Roy and a confused Jamie.

“Oi, porch girl, what’re you doing here?” Jamie asks. Roy smacks him on the back of the head.

“She fucking works here, you twat.”

You don’t point out that you’ve literally run into him twice, and maybe count it a blessing that he doesn’t remember you. Instead, you nod wearily and head to your desk.

It’s a fairly easygoing day, and you decide to take a late lunch. You’re halfway through your meal, absorbed in chewing each bite thoroughly and not falling asleep, when you hear someone call your name from the doorway. You look up to see Jamie standing and fiddling with his shirt.

“Do you even talk?” he asks, no preamble. 

“What?” you say, confused. You realize you actually haven’t said much to him in any of your interactions other than “sorry.”

“Oh,” you reply, “yeah, I do. I’m just tired, is all. Neurons aren’t firing at full capacity and all that.”

Jamie nods. “Just wanted make sure you were all right. Got your name from one of the blokes across the hall, cuz we can’t keep calling you ‘porch girl.’ Anyway, are you?”

You half-laugh. “Yeah, can’t you tell? I’m obviously doing great.”

Jamie’s face morphs from concern to slight offence.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you hasten to continue. “I haven’t slept well all week, and it’s made me snippy. I wasn’t- it’s not about you. I just can’t quite think straight.”

Jamie nods again. “Right,” he says, “don’t think that’s healthy. Coach is always on me for rest days. Maybe you need one too.”

You shrug. “I mean, that probably works for you because you’re on a footballer’s salary. I don’t really have time for personal days aside from the weekend. There’s stuff to be done and bills to pay, so…” you trail off as you realize you’ve spoken unfiltered again.

“Anyway,” you say, fake smile plastered on your face, “thanks for checking in. See you around.”

Jamie takes his cue and leaves.

—

Why did you think you’d be able to sleep better on the weekend? You don’t know. Girls’ night is officially a no-go, so you’re trying to wear yourself out with some yoga. Sometimes physical exertion helps, but you can barely think straight enough to get in the correct positions. You’re going to cry again, and probably have to call your doctor because this can’t be normal. You just wish your brain would shut up long enough for you to rest. 

You drag yourself out of bed and to the kitchen for a cup of tea. At least you’ll get to see a gorgeous sunrise.

—

You’re not positive when you fell asleep, but you did. You had a dream of someone’s strong arms around you carrying you from the steps to your bed. The dream lingers as you slowly blink your eyes open and realize that you actually are in your bed.

How did you get here? You know for an absolute fact that you are not a sleepwalker, nor did you wake up in between passing out in your front yard and now. You didn’t get yourself here, so who did?

The flat is quiet, and light is peeking in through the curtains. You check your phone to see if maybe one of your friends had helped you inside, but there’s no text letting you know. You frown. Maybe you’re just going insane.

You roll out of bed and grab your robe, then stop in front of your door. There’s a sticky note right at eye-level that says, don’t freak out, I’m in your kitchen. - Jamie (from work)

Oh shit.

You frantically run your fingers through your hair then fly down the stairs to find Jamie on his back on your couch, scrolling through his phone.

He looks up and says, “Wotcher,” completely unfazed. He swings his legs onto the floor and sits up.

“Let me explain,” he says as you gape at him. “I was on a run without Roy, and saw you asleep on your steps. Figured you’d want to be left alone after last time. But then I came by later on me way back and saw your door was cracked open. So I helped you upstairs and then stayed here with the door locked so no fuckin’ creeps would come in. You really should lock your door,” he continues, “Never know what sort are lurking ‘round.”

You’re still staring at him, uncomprehending. Jamie frowns. “Shit, didn’t mean to overstep. Just- you didn’t look so good and I thought it’d be better for you to sleep. And we’re not like, fucking strangers are we? Shit, I’m sorry.”

That snaps you out of it. “No!” you reply. “No, we’re not strangers. And it wasn’t… weird. It wasn’t weird. It’s just nice, which is why I was having trouble responding. I mean sure, this is the longest we’ve ever talked without me tripping over air, but you’re not- I mean, I don’t feel unsafe around you. You’re not that type of person.”

Jamie’s phone is away and his hands are tangled in his shirt. You wonder if it’s a nervous response.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says after a pause. “Maybe go back to sleep, yeah?”

You nod. “You want a cuppa before you go?”

Jamie hesitates, which is different from the flat-out no you expected. Finally he says, “Nah, should probably get going. Don’t want me hanging ‘round longer than needed, innit?”

You’re not really sure how to respond to that, but Jamie doesn’t give you a chance to before he’s down the front steps and out the gate.

Damn it.

—

The not-dream of Jamie’s arms carrying you to bed is much more comforting than the dreams you usually have. The ones where you’re suffocating under a blanket and everything is cold and slimy and you’re screaming and screaming, but no one takes notice. 

You wonder if it can actually be classified as a dream, or if it’s more of a memory?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter because you push it down. No sense in thinking about it in the daylight when it’s sure to haunt you at night.

—

It’s embarrassing to see Jamie at Nelson Road, so you avoid him if you can. He certainly knows who you are now, and the few times you have accidentally made eye contact have been painful. Each time, he’s looked at you with the same completely indiscernible gaze, the one that makes your face heat up and slip out of whatever room your in. You successfully avoid conversations for four days, but he finds his way to your office on Friday.

“You good?” he says as he walks in without knocking and sits unceremoniously in the chair opposite you.

“Yes..?” you reply, unsure why he’s even here. You don’t forget that he’s Jamie Tartt, star striker and really should have no interest in you, like at all.

“Cool,” he says, still sitting sideways in the chair. You wonder if he’s capable of sitting normally. 

You stare at each other in silence for a moment before you say, “Not trying to be rude, but why are you here?”

Jamie scrunches up his face. “Wanted to know why you were avoiding me and to apologize for it. Whatever it was, I didn’t fucking mean it.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you say aloud, “no, you didn’t do anything. It’s me. All of our interactions have been supremely embarrassing, so I figured if we don’t talk, I can’t get embarrassed.”

Jamie nods in understanding. “That’s proper shit,” he says.

You never know how to respond to half the things this boy says, so you just settle on, “Ok,” then go back to typing.

“You got any allergies?” Jamie’s voice breaks the silence again and startles you into a typo. You delete it and look up at him.

“No?” you reply, confused. 

Jamie laughs. “Why’d you say it like a question? You unsure if you’re fucking allergic to something?”

For a moment you think he’s taking the piss, but there’s genuine amusement in his eyes as you shrug. 

“I don’t know, it’s just how I talk. Why do you want to know if I have any allergies?”

Jamie rummages in one of his jacket pockets and plops a box down on your desk. “Mum said this is the best tea for insomnia. Figured out you can’t fucking sleep so I called her and asked. She used to make it when I was a lad and bouncing off the walls, like. Thought it might help.”

This is the second time Jamie has done something just plain nice for you, and it’s freaking you out a little bit. It feels… uneven. Wrong, maybe.

“How much was it?” you ask in an attempt to settle the score. “I have cash in a drawer.”

Jamie scrunches his face again. “You don’t fucking owe me for this shit,” he says. “Ted’s always on us about ‘doing things we want done without fucking hoping some shit in return.’ Only he didn’t say ‘fuck,’ or ‘shit.’”

You’ve seen Ted. You know how he is.

“Well, thanks,” you reply. “It means a lot. I’ll try it and let you know.”

Jamie grins, a great beaming smile that warms you from your chest all the way to your fingertips.

“Mint,” he says before bounding out the door.

—

The tea actually helped. Or maybe it was just the fact that someone was thinking about you, doing something without expecting a favor in return. Whatever the case, you don’t end up on the porch. Sure, your sleep is still jacked up, but not as much as before. It’s restless, but it’s a sleep void of dreams.

—

You report back to Jamie the next day, and he takes it like a personal challenge. A mission of sorts. He’s in your office every other day with some remedy or the other, all for the sake of helping you sleep.

One day it’s, “Dani said if you put these plants under your pillow, you’ll sleep like you’re dead.”

“They’re herbs, Jamie.”

Or, “Richard has this oil thingy from France and he says you’ll sleep like a baby.”

You bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that babies don’t sleep well.

Or another time, “Coach said if you burned this in like a bowl or some shit it’ll cleanse your aura I guess? His girlfriend uses it, I think it smells fucking nasty.”

You both shudder. Coach Beard is nice, but his girlfriend certainly is a character.

You try everything and report back the next day. Jamie has taken to asking you to stick your head into the locker room so that the team can hear each verdict. They still don’t really know who you are, but they’re invested in this challenge. They’re sweet, and it’s funny to start your day with their cheers of success or groans of disappointment. You think the best was when Richard made a comment about certain aerobic exercise that might tire you out and Jamie had a murderous look on his face. You’re not sure what the look means, but you did bring it up ever-so casually at the next girls’ night.

“He thinks you’re hot, babe,” says Jessica once the squeals have died down.

“No way,” you reply. “Impossible.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “I have to agree with Jess on this one. He’s into you.”

Your protests are lost amid another round of giggles, and you let yourself believe them for a single moment before quenching that stupid little spark that’s beginning to burn brighter in your chest.

Table of Contents

[pip-n-chips]

People who are supposed to heal you being the ones to do harm is so incredibly hot, okay? Yes, this is about Harper.

Harper's always so put together, and it's not surprising. He's been doing this for a long time, he's gotta be. But it can't last forever, and I want to see this man snap, lose his composure, break down. I want him to drop the nice doctor act and take what he thinks he deserves. (He sure as hell has the power to!) You know that one scene that occurs before you leave the asylum? Where you get better and he wants sex before you go? Have you ever declined his advances (or fought him off)?

Yeah. I think about it A Lot, that manipulative little shit-

He shows ANGER and it's not for that long, but it's there! Also, drawing inspiration from inkyquince's post from earlier for a sec, I bet he feels SO disrespected. He's done so much for you! He's helped you manage (or ignore) your trauma, you're more promiscuous because of him, and you won't even let him get some of the action? Not even as a thank you? What's stopping him from just undoing all that hard work, then? If you're not going to be fucking grateful?

(He needs your trust he needs your trust he needs your trust he needs your tru-

Fuck. Right. He needs you to trust him, so you'll keep seeing him. But what if he didn't need you to, though? He'll just find a way to get you landed in the asylum again, so you'll have no choice but to see him. Solid plan!)

Anyway, the next bit is probably out of character but that's kind of the point?

I'm thinking about him slamming you back down on the desk after you tell him no, and he doesn't even bother to hypnotize or drug you because he has no fucking patience for that. The doors are locked and his office is soundproof (recent installment, actually! and even if it weren't, the orderlies are instructed to turn their heads) so you can fight and scream all you'd like, but no one is going to come help you. Only him! He knows how much you need this, and so does he, so quit fighting--

Also thinking about after the fact, when you're in pain and covered in bruises he inflicted. He'll become all sweet again, fixing up the damage you caused (yes, you. you didn't have to fight so hard, you could have just been compliant. doctor knows best, not you) and- oh, look at that, you're traumatized again. Guess he'll have to cancel your pick up, keep you for another week. It'll do you good.